


Stained Glass Windows

by KouriArashi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Canon, Angst, Argent Family Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Family, Friends to Lovers, Good Peter Hale, Grief/Mourning, Hale Family Feels, Kid Fic, M/M, Mystery, Pack Feels, Post Hale Fire, Slow Build, or more accurately, very protective of his pack Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2018-12-29 16:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 85,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12088854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KouriArashi/pseuds/KouriArashi
Summary: Peter survives the fire and suddenly finds himself trying to raise children with only a vague notion of what he's doing, while trying to cope with his own grief and find his family's murderer. He ends up turning to Chris Argent for help, and nothing goes as expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everybody! Welcome to 'Whose Fic Is it Anyway', where the characters' ages are made up and the canon doesn't matter! <3
> 
> *ahems* So anyway a while back I was prompted to write a fic where Peter's kids survive the fire and he has to raise them. Then I had the idea to swap Peter and Laura's positions post-fire and have an adult, semi-competent alpha in charge of the pack. Those two ideas coalesced and formed this fic! The only other main change to canon is that Victoria died while Allison was very young, thus giving Chris the single-parent skills needed for him to help Peter out.
> 
> This starts out super depressing because it picks up right after the fire, while Peter is still struggling to process what just happened. I'm only a little sorry.
> 
> Warnings for angst and murder, obviously, as well as sexual assault (because Kate) and suicide (because Victoria).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _People are like stained - glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within._
> 
>  
> 
> _\- Elisabeth Kubler Ross_

When Peter wakes up in the hospital, he has only foggy memories of how he got there. His mind had separated out the events of the previous twelve hours into little flashcards. The sound of the flames as they consumed the house. Beating his fists frantically against the mountain ash wall as he tried to get in. The red and blue flickers of the lights of the emergency services vehicles. The way Sophie screamed as she plummeted from the window into Peter’s arms.

He hadn’t been able to save the others.

When he had gotten up for the day around noon, as was his wont, Olivia hadn’t been feeling well. She had been nauseous off and on for the past few days. Benjamin had his fifteen month well-check, and she had asked Peter if he could bring him. Peter had agreed; his work schedule was fluid and taking a few hours off wasn’t a problem. It was a quick visit. Neither of their children had inherited Peter’s lycanthropy, but Benjamin was still a healthy baby. He wailed through his immunizations and got a sticker to soothe his pain.

As they left the doctor’s office, he had a text from Talia, asking if he could pick Derek up from basketball practice on his way home. He normally walked home, but he had a big project due the next day and had asked if someone could take him to buy some supplies. ‘At the last minute as usual,’ read Talia’s half-amused, half-annoyed text.

Even buying posterboard and glue was a process when one had a baby with them, and Derek rolled his eyes a lot while Peter did his best to keep Benjamin corralled. Then he had to stop for gas and wanted to stop at a pharmacy so he could buy a pregnancy test for Olivia – normally he would have scented the change in her by the time morning sickness set in, but anything was possible.

All of this put together, and it was dinner time by the time he turned his car down the road that led to the Hale family house.

Everything after that is fuzzy.

“Mr. Hale?” a nurse asks, as he’s struggling out of the bed, pulling at the IV – why does he have an IV? “Whoa, don’t tug at that – ”

“Where are my children?” he chokes out, nearly falling.

“Your kids are fine, Mr. Hale,” the woman says, her voice firm and soothing. “They’re down the hall with a social worker. You passed out in the ambulance.”

“I did?” He doesn’t remember that, and it doesn’t sound like him. “They gave me something, didn’t they.”

“You were in shock, Peter – can I call you Peter?” she asks, and he just stares at her. “I’m Melissa. Yes, I think they did give you a sedative, because you wouldn’t stop trying to get into the house. You were fighting with the emergency response personnel.”

Peter thinks back. He remembers hearing something about the house being fully involved, too unsafe to enter – but it’s black after that. “I don’t remember.”

“That’s fine, Peter,” Melissa says. “Let’s get you in to see your kids, okay?”

Peter nods. He watches Melissa as she disconnects the IV. He looks at his hands and arms, remembers beating against that mountain ash barrier until his fists were bloody. They’re fine now, of course, completely healed. “Were there.” He chokes on the words. “Were there any survivors?”

Melissa looks over at him as she helps him to his feet. “Only one,” she says quietly. “Your niece, Laura, was brought into the ER still alive. She was badly burned, though. I don’t know what her prognosis is. I’m so sorry, Peter.”

A wave of nausea overcomes him, thinking of Olivia, of Talia. The next thing he knows, he’s on his knees, retching into a basin Melissa is holding. It takes several long moments for it to stop. “Sorry,” he says hoarsely, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth.

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Melissa holds a cup of water to his mouth and helps him take a few sips. Then she helps him to his feet again, and down the hall.

The social worker’s office is much more personable than the rest of the hospital, with framed pictures and sage green curtains and a lamp instead of just the ceiling fluorescents. Derek is curled up in one corner with his knees tucked up to his chest. Benjamin is asleep on the sofa, but Sophie is awake, and her shout of, “Daddy!” wakes the baby. Peter sinks onto the floor and cradles both his children to his chest. A few tears escape him, but he chokes the rest of them back. They’ll only get more upset if they see him crying.

Sophie pulls away first and says, “Miss Everett says that Mommy died, that we can’t ever see her again, and Auntie Talia and Uncle Aaron and, and everybody! That can’t be right! Tell her she’s wrong!”

Peter has to breathe slowly, in through his nose and out through his mouth, focusing on not throwing up. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. She’s not wrong.” Breathe in, breathe out. “I know it’s not fair, but it’s true. From now on, it’s just the four of us.” He holds a hand out to Derek, but the teenager only curls up tighter and won’t look at him. “The others are gone.”

The social worker lets them have a moment, then starts talking gently about death and how it’s okay to be sad or angry. She tells Peter about how it’s okay for him to show his grief, that it might scare the children in the moment, but it’s important for them to see that adults can cry, too. “Just let them know that even though you’re sad, you still love them,” she says.

Things start to blur again. Peter finds himself nodding along to what she’s saying without really listening. She gives him some pamphlets on how to deal with grief and how children react to the death of loved ones, the meeting schedule of a support group for single parents, and her business card with her private number. “Call me any time,” she says, and he nods again. “Do you have a place to stay?”

He hadn’t even thought about that yet, and in response, he only manages to shake his head. He had lived in that house his entire life, except when he had been staying at a dorm in college. It had never occurred to him that he might live anywhere else.

“Okay, then let me make a quick call,” she says, and gets on the phone for a minute. When she gets off the phone, she says, “We have some housing here so the parents of sick children can stay the night in an actual bed, without having to leave the hospital grounds. Normally it’s restricted for that purpose, but I’ve arranged for you to stay there tonight.”

“Thank you,” Peter says.

Sophie tugs on his sleeve. “What about dinner? I’m hungry.”

How can she possibly be hungry, Peter wonders. But then again, he has no idea how much she really understands. She’s only five years old. She watches cartoons where coyotes fall off cliffs and then get right back up.

“I’ll take you by the cafeteria on the way,” the social worker says, and Peter nods again. They get a sandwich for Sophie and some cereal and baby food for Benjamin. The social worker also gets a sandwich for both Derek and Peter. Derek refuses to even try to eat it. Peter makes an effort, but he can barely choke down the second bite. He has to fight off another wave of nausea.

They’ve been sitting there for about fifteen minutes when Melissa comes in and sits down at their table. “I just wanted to give you an update on Laura,” she says, and Derek’s head jerks up. “Her condition has stabilized. They’re going to move her to the burn unit in the morning. She’s going to have a long road ahead of her, but they think she’s going to make it.”

“Thank you,” Peter says in a dry whisper. “Can we see her?”

“Not tonight. She’s heavily sedated. Come by in the morning and we’ll take you in to see her once she’s been settled in.”

Peter nods. “Okay. Thank you.”

Several decades later, or at least that’s how it feels, they’re showed into the small room that they can stay the night in. It reminds Peter of a hotel room, warm but impersonal. There are two beds and a little bathroom, and, surprisingly, a crib. The social worker mentions that since a lot of people come in from out of town, the rooms are prepared to house siblings as well. She tells Peter again to call her if he needs anything, and then departs.

Peter puts Benjamin down in the crib, and he falls asleep immediately. Olivia had always said that Benjamin was a blessing with how quickly he went to sleep. At least he’s sleeping through the night now. He had been late to do that, almost a year old.

“You two take the beds,” he says to Derek and Sophie. “I probably won’t sleep much anyway.”

He half-expects Derek to argue, but the teenager just sheds his jeans and gets underneath the blankets, curling into fetal position. Sophie climbs into the other bed but then looks at Peter and says, “But I can’t sleep without Mr. Pumpkin.”

Peter swallows the lump in his throat. Mr. Pumpkin was Sophie’s stuffed bear, that she’d had ever since she was an infant. Mr. Pumpkin was now nothing but ash. “Just try, okay, sweetheart?”

Sophie snuffles a little but allows Peter to tuck her in. He turns out the lights except for the small desk lamp and sits down there. For a long minute, he doesn’t move or think. Just allows the weariness to settle into his bones, the knowledge that the two people he most relied on are now gone. He’s alone except for the children. They’re his responsibility now. He’s never been good at responsibility. Oh, he’d gotten better at it, after Sophie had been born. But it had never been his forte.

For the first time, he lets the red seep into his eyes, studies his own reflection in the darkened mirror. It shouldn’t be him. It should be Laura, or Derek. He doesn’t know why the alpha power chose him. Familial power can work in strange ways sometimes, skipping over an oldest child or even an entire generation.

What matters is that he’s now an alpha, with a pack to protect. That means he can’t allow himself to lose focus through grief.

There’s a pad of paper and a pen on the table, and he picks it up and starts thinking about things he’s going to have to do in the morning. First of all, check in with Laura. He can take some of her pain, allow her to rest easier and heal faster. That will take precedence.

Then there are going to be more complicated things to do. Find a place to live, and things to put in it. Funeral arrangements. Making sure extended family was notified. Thank God that Olivia’s mother had died the previous year, because Peter doesn’t think he could handle having to tell her. But Aaron and Sean both had living parents and siblings. He supposes he should call Talia’s office, Aaron’s store – the other employees will have no doubt seen this on the news, but formalities should be observed.

He’ll have to call the life insurance company, and homeowner’s insurance as well. Talia’s law firm would have all the necessary paperwork to process the varying wills. He doesn’t know where his car is. He supposes it’s probably still at the house, and the idea of going back makes his stomach churn, but he’ll need to go get it. He’ll have to call the schools – high school for Derek, the elementary school for Cora and Jocelyn. His two little nieces that he’ll never see again.

Grief chokes him for a few moments, and he forces it back down.

The idea of lying down and trying to sleep with nothing but his thoughts is terrifying. Instead, he picks up the pamphlets that the social worker had given him and starts reading about how to help children process grief and what to expect after a loved one dies. Of course, the pamphlets don’t talk about what to do when the child’s entire world has been upended. There’s a list of resources in the back, including the numbers of some local child therapists. He makes a mental note that he might need to get in touch with them, especially for Derek. He seems to be taking it worse than the others – but of course, that makes sense. For one thing, he’s older; he understands what death really means. But more than that, the children had lost their mother and their extended family, but Derek had lost both his parents, and his two younger sisters as well, to say nothing of Laura’s condition. It makes sense that he would have more trouble dealing with it.

He reads the pamphlets over and over again, and eventually, dozes off.

The phone’s alarm is like an ice pick directly to his ear, when it goes off at seven thirty. He hadn’t really expected to need it, since Sophie usually woke up early, but then again it was a late night. He rouses the kids out of bed and promises that they’re going to get breakfast and then go see Laura. He thinks about taking a shower, but what’s the point? He doesn’t have clean clothes to change into. That’s something he can worry about later.

They head back to the cafeteria and get breakfast. He’s worried that Derek will refuse to eat again, but apparently grief is no match for the metabolism of a teenaged boy. He eats silently and methodically, like he’s barely tasting it, but he does eat.

A little while later, they go up to the front desk and Peter gets directions to where Laura is. A nurse meets him outside and tells him that he might not want to bring the children in. “I don’t have anyone to leave them with,” he says.

“I’ll stay with them for a few minutes,” a voice interjects, and Peter looks up to see Deputy Tom Stilinski heading towards him. They’ve met a few times before, usually while Peter was doing work for Talia’s law firm. Tom nods and says, “Peter.”

Peter nods back. “Thanks for . . . whatever you’re here for.”

“We can talk in a few minutes. Go see to your niece.” Tom sits down and takes the baby from Peter, cradling Benjamin against his chest.

“Do you know patty cake?” Sophie asks the deputy, and seeing that things are in good hands, Peter heads into Laura’s room.

She looks awful. The burns have ravaged one side of her face, and what of her arms is visible are heavily covered in burns as well. Derek chokes out a sob and pulls away from Peter when Peter tries to embrace him. Peter sits down next to Laura, taking her hand between both of his own. As an alpha, he can handle a lot of pain. He pulls as much of it into himself as he dares, listening to Derek’s hoarse sobs.

The doctor comes in and talks to him about the fact that Laura is still sedated and could have brain damage from the smoke inhalation, and that it might be some time before they can fully assess her condition. She’s going to need a lot of care for the burns, and Peter should be prepared for the fact that she’ll be in the hospital long-term. Peter nods in agreement.

“Can I stay here with her?” Derek asks, his voice barely a whisper.

“I have things I need to do – get us a place to sleep and everything,” Peter says. “You’d be by yourself.”

Derek nods. “Okay. That – that’s okay.”

“All right, then.” Peter squeezes his shoulder. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll be back in a few hours, probably.”

Derek just nods again, so Peter heads back into the hallway. Tom is braiding Sophie’s hair for her, and he looks up as Peter comes out. “So, I have a couple things for you,” Tom says, and holds out a set of keys. “I drove your car from the house to the hospital. Figured you wouldn’t want to go back there, at least not today.”

Peter lets out a breath. “Thank you,” he says. The words don’t come easily to him. He’s never been big on accepting help from people he doesn’t know well.

“There are some things I put in the trunk. Did Betty tell you about the single parents support group?”

“She mentioned it.”

“Well, I’m in it, along with Melissa, the nurse who was taking care of you last night?” Tom says, and Peter nods. “Some of the moms got together some things for you, baby clothes, toys, that sort of thing. I loaded it all into the car for you. Do you have a place to stay?”

“I will by tonight.”

“Okay.” Tom hesitates, a little uncomfortable. “Fire chief said it looked like it was probably an electrical short. We’ll know more once the official investigation is done. I’ll keep you posted, of course.”

“Of course,” Peter echoes. With those words, it becomes clear that the official investigation is going to be worthless. Peter knows it was murder from the mountain ash circle around the house. Whoever was behind it clearly has someone official on the payroll. That’s good, in a way – it gives him a place to start his investigation. Once he has the report, he’ll know where to go from there.

Tom shakes his hand and heads down the hall. Peter needs a way to keep his children entertained while he makes a hundred phone calls, but he doesn’t want to go somewhere public, like the park. He doesn’t think he could take prying questions or even sympathetic remarks right now. He heads out on one of the back roads instead, so Sophie can run around and blow off some steam in the woods.

He calls Aaron’s mother and Sean’s brother, because those are the two numbers he has in his phone. Aaron’s mother had already heard on the news, but Sean’s brother hasn’t. He takes the news stoically and says he’ll call their parents and they’ll be in Beacon Hills the next day.

Then he calls Talia’s law firm, the sporting goods store that Aaron manages, the yoga studio where Kayla works, the mechanic that Sean works for. All of them had already seen the news. Talia’s assistant, crying audibly, offers to call the insurance company for Peter, and he accepts with thanks.

His own business is ‘legal consulting’, which is a fancy way to say that he’s a fixer. He has no boss and no staff, but he does have a number of business contacts. One of them is a realtor – he’s handled some troublesome evictions of problem tenants. It’s mid-morning now, so he calls her. “Tanya? It’s Peter Hale.”

“Mr. Hale, my God, I am so sorry,” Tanya says. “I saw what happened on the news. Are you all right?”

“Physically, I’m fine. But I need a favor. I’m hoping not to stay in a hotel for the foreseeable future.”

“Sure, of course. What are you looking for?”

“At least four bedrooms, at least two and a half bathrooms,” Peter says. “Preferably a large lot so the kids have room to run around the backyard. Ready to move into immediately, obviously. Other than that, I’m not really picky.”

“Price range?”

Peter starts to tell her that there’s really no limit, but then thinks better of the idea. He has more money than he’ll need in a lifetime, but most of it is tied up in various stocks and funds. He needs to think about what of his money is actually accessible, and then he’ll need to go to the bank. “Nothing over one point two.”

“Okay. Let me check the listings and I’ll get back to you.”

“Thanks.” Peter hangs up and watches Sophie try to climb a tree. “Get down here, you know the rules!” he shouts. Sophie was constantly seeing her werewolf cousins doing acrobatics and trying to imitate them. She drops down from the branch and sticks her tongue out. He sticks his tongue out back, and she giggles.

The bank is the next stop. The lack of sleep is starting to make him feel a bit achy, foggy. He hates how sympathetic and patient the woman at the bank is, even though he knows he should be grateful. She helps him transfer some funds around so he’ll be able to just write a check for the new house without having to worry about a mortgage. He’ll have to stop by the vault later this week.

That makes him think of the school, and he realizes he’s forgotten to call them. He doesn’t really care. From the conversations he’s had so far, everyone in town knows what happened. The school won’t be expecting to see any of the Hale children, even if they know who had and hadn’t survived. He’ll deal with that later. There are going to be custody issues with Derek, too. Laura is twenty, so there’s no need to worry about her, but he’s sure there will be paperwork to figure out for Derek. He vaguely remembers the social worker mentioning that.

As he gets Benjamin buckled into his car seat, Sophie suddenly asks, “Why do people die?”

Peter lets out a breath as he climbs into the car. The pamphlet had mentioned that children ask a lot of questions after the death of loved ones, and sometimes will ask the same questions repeatedly. “It’s a little hard to explain,” he says, “but think of like, oh, like that iPad Uncle Aaron got you. You remember when you dropped it and it stopped working?”

“Uh huh,” Sophie says.

“Well, sometimes people stop working, too. Sometimes it’s because they get too old and, and their battery stops working. Or sometimes they get broken, like your iPad did.”

Sophie chews on this for a few moments. “So the fire broke Mommy?”

“Yes.”

“Why can’t we fix her?”

Peter swallows hard. “Well, sometimes things break and they can’t be fixed. Most of the time people break, we can fix them. But sometimes we can’t. And when we can’t fix them, they die.”

“Oh.” Sophie’s quiet for another minute. “Can we go to Dairy Queen for lunch?”

Peter chokes on a half-laugh, half-sob. “Sure,” he says. “Why not?”

Even the woman at Dairy Queen recognizes him and knows what happened. She tries to give them their meal for free, and he won’t let her. He gets Sophie a Blizzard and shares it with her, since if she eats the whole thing, she’ll be bouncing off the walls. It sticks in his throat, but he forces it down. When they’re done eating, he calls to check in with Derek, and reminds him to have some lunch. He says one of the nurses brought him something.

Tanya has texted him three different listings. He wishes he had a computer to look at them on, but his phone will do. He thumbs through the photos. The first is mediocre and the second far too small despite the number of bedrooms. The third is good, though. A big backyard, bordering on the forest, hardwood floors, gas range. He texts her back to let her know, and she says she can meet him there with the paperwork at three. She’ll get the gas, water, and electricity set up, too, she says. No extra charges.

Peter wishes people would stop trying to act like money is the issue. He has more money than he knows what to do with – once the insurance and the family money come in, he’ll have more than he could ever spend in a lifetime. But everyone keeps acting like they’re doing him favors by not charging him for things. He pinches the bridge of his nose and reminds himself that they’re trying to be kind, that they know there’s nothing that can take away his pain, so they offer what little they can.

There’s so many things they’re going to need. He’s sure he’s not even thinking of half of them. Furniture, clothing, towels, appliances – the list could go on for days. He goes through the boxes that Deputy Stilinski had brought him. There’s a bag with diapers, wipes, and formula. A box of clothes that should fit both children at least passably, and two pairs of shoes for each of them. Another, smaller box of toys and some books. It’ll keep the children clothed for a week, entertained for three days at maximum, and fed for zero.

“Focus, Peter,” he mutters to himself, as the grief rises in his throat and threatens to choke him again. “Focus.”

He opens up the internet on his phone and searches for a furniture store that also sells mattresses, so he won’t have to make two stops. He heads over with purpose, and is greeted by a young salesman. “Can I help you find something?”

For the first time, Peter wishes the man _had_ recognized him. It just figures that now that he needs someone who does, he gets somebody who doesn’t. “Yes. I need . . .” The thought of _what_ he needs is overwhelming, and he has to stop and breathe for a moment. “Everything.”

“Everything?” the young man says.

“Mr. Hale!” a voice rings out, and a woman hurries over. “Please, let me help you. There must be so much you need. Let’s get you taken care of.”

“Thank you,” Peter chokes out.

“Since you’re here, I take it that you’ve found a place to stay?” she prompts.

Peter nods. “Or, well, I’ll have one in a few hours, once all the paperwork has been put together.”

“I saw on the news that four of the children survived?”

“Well, Laura is really an adult now, but she’ll be in the hospital for several months with her injuries,” Peter says, managing to start breathing again. “Derek is fifteen, Sophie five, and Benjamin is fifteen months.”

“Okay. So you’ll need two adult bedroom sets and one child’s. Dining room set, living room set . . . entertainment center?” she asks, and he nods. “A changing table and a crib for the baby’s room. That should probably do for starters.”

He follows her around the store and makes vague choices based on a house he hasn’t seen and won’t see for hours. Sophie runs around and bounces on the different plush chairs and couches and nobody has a heart to reprimand her. Once he’s selected his purchases, Peter gives them the new address and says any time after three is fine. He might not be there, but he’ll leave the door unlocked. He asks if they offer assembly. The saleswoman starts to say no, then changes her mind and says yes. He thanks her, glad that he got cash at the bank so he can tip well.

What he really needs is a laptop. There’s too much of this stuff that he can’t do just with his phone. He’s got about half an hour before he’s meeting Tanya at the new house. He hates shopping at a place like Best Buy, but he doesn’t have time to go find an independent shop that might have actual customer service. He girds himself against retail incompetence and heads into the store.

“Spongebob!” Sophie sees what’s playing on one of the screens and immediately runs over to watch. Peter keeps an eye on her while he looks over the laptop specs and grabs one that’s at least vaguely passable.

“Time to go, sweetie,” he says to Sophie.

“No,” Sophie says, enthralled by the television.

“We need to go,” he says. “Daddy has a lot to do.”

“No!” Sophie shouts. A few other shoppers look over at him, and he feels his face flush with embarrassment. “I don’t wanna!”

Peter scoops her up and tries to carry her, while her little limbs flail, but he can’t manage to do that, carry the laptop, and push Benjamin’s stroller all at the time. The more he tries to calm Sophie, the more upset she gets, until she’s throwing a full-blown temper tantrum and he’s given up on buying anything and just wants to get out of the store before he dies from humiliation.

“Here, go ahead and take her outside,” a voice says, and someone takes the laptop from his hand. “I’ll get this for you.”

It should be embarrassing – hell, it _is_ embarrassing – but he doesn’t even care. Sophie’s screams are giving way to sobs of ‘I want mommy’, and Peter is ready to sit down on the floor and have a meltdown of his own. He steers the stroller out of the store and out to the car, straps Benjamin into his car seat, and holds Sophie, walking in circles around the car. Gradually, her sobs trail off. Once she’s calm, Peter manages to text Tanya to let her know he’s going to be about ten minutes late.

He’s getting her in her booster seat when he hears someone come up behind him, and he whirls around, nearly overbalancing. The man standing behind him is vaguely familiar, taller than him by several inches, with bright blue eyes and attractive scruff. He’s carrying a Best Buy bag, and holds it out to Peter. “Your laptop.”

“What? Oh,” Peter says, blinking. He hadn’t realized ‘I’ll get this’ meant buying it for him, thinking it had been an employee who was going to return it to the shelf. “Oh, uh, I don’t have my checkbook – ”

“Don’t worry about it,” the man says.

Peter wants to argue. He wants to scream and cry and throw the laptop in the man’s face. He wants to thank him and ask him for a hug. He doesn’t know what the hell he wants. All he manages is a choked, “I have to go,” before he throws the bag into the front seat, climbs into the car, and drives away as quickly as he dares.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind comments so far! I love all y'all. =D

 

The house is nice, Peter supposes. He doesn’t think it’ll ever seem like home. But it’s open and airy, with hardwood floors and large windows. Peter isn’t thrilled with the windows, from a defense standpoint, but what the hell. At least they’ll have an exit if the house catches fire. Presuming it isn’t surrounded by mountain ash again.

He’s trying not to think about that while Tanya walks him through the house. Sophie is running around the house like a maniac, having recovered somewhat from the incident at the electronics store. Peter’s letting her, although he’s keeping as close an eye on her. It’s a good way for her to expend some energy. He doesn’t really care about getting a tour, but he also doesn’t care enough to stop her. He carries Benjamin against his shoulder, rocking him back and forth.

Once Tanya is gone, he stands in the house’s foyer while Sophie runs in circles around him, desperately trying to think of what he needs to do next. There are so many possibilities, he doesn’t even have the faintest clue.

His phone rings, and he picks it up to hear Talia’s secretary. She says she’s gotten hold of the insurance companies and there’s some paperwork he’s going to need to sign. She’s filled it all out for him, although he might want to read it over. He can stop by the office any time the next day after eight thirty to sign it, and she’ll get everything submitted. He thanks her, and she asks if he has any information about the services. Not yet, he says. He hasn’t even talked to the funeral home. Hell, he doesn’t even know which funeral home is handling things, but he’s not about to mention that to the secretary. He probably has email.

So he breaks out the new laptop. The receipt in the bag catches his eye, and he looks at the signature. Chris Argent. _Argent_. No wonder the man had looked familiar. He had seen him once or twice while he was doing business with Talia, keeping the supernatural world in line. Talia had thought he was on their side, or at least not actively against them. But someone had put that circle of mountain ash around their house. If it was Chris Argent, Peter’s going to break this laptop in half and beat him to death with it.

He checks his email, which is overflowing with sympathetic correspondence from various coworkers and contacts. Nothing from any sort of funeral home. Screw it. He’ll deal with it tomorrow.

It’s getting late in the afternoon, so he texts Derek to say that he’s going to be by to pick him up in a little while. Derek doesn’t reply. Sophie starts to whine when Peter puts her back in the car. “We’ve been in the car _all day_ ,” she moans.

“Just one last trip, sweetie,” Peter says, which doesn’t put a dent in her whining at all. Peter ignores her for a few minutes, then says, “Tell you what – what do you want for dinner?”

“Dairy Queen!” Sophie says.

“We had Dairy Queen for lunch,” Peter says.

“Dairy Queen!”

“Fine,” Peter says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, sweetheart. But only one more time, okay? Tomorrow you’re going to eat vegetables.”

“Boooooo,” Sophie replies, but at least she stops whining. Peter pulls up outside the hospital and unbuckles the kids from their car seats for what feels like the thousandth time in the past twenty-four hours. Sophie doesn’t want to go in her stroller, so Peter just carries Benjamin and lets Sophie trot after him.

Derek doesn’t seem to have moved from where Peter had left him that morning. He’s still sitting at Laura’s bedside, with her hand twined in his. There are dark circles underneath his eyes, and he looks like he’s been crying. Peter reaches out and smoothes over the back of his hair. “How are you doing?”

“How do you think I’m doing?” Derek snaps.

Peter sighs and forces himself not to scream at the ceiling in frustration. “How’s Laura doing?” he asks, and Derek just shrugs. That actually seems like a pretty valid answer to the question. “I’m going to go talk to the doctor. Can you keep an eye on these two for me?”

“Sure,” Derek says, although he won’t look at Peter when he says it.

It takes Peter a few moments to find a nurse, who says she’ll find the doctor for him. He takes a few minutes to find a vending machine and get himself a soda. He drinks half of it while he waits for the doctor to show up.

“Laura’s condition is difficult to assess right now,” the doctor says. “She’s still heavily sedated, and probably will be for several days. Her burns are very serious. She’s going to need months or even years of rehab. Once she’s weaned off the sedation, we’re going to get her transferred over to the long-term care facility.”

Peter nods. “So she’s . . . not in danger of her life anymore?”

“Burns are tricky,” the doctor says, “and she remains at high risk for infection. But barring any complications, no. Our primary concern right now is her rehabilitation.”

“Thanks,” Peter says, and heads back into the room. “Come on, Derek. We’re going to get some food and then you should get some sleep.”

He half-expects Derek to argue with him, but Derek just silently pushes his chair back and stands up. Peter tells him that they’re going to Dairy Queen, and Derek looks somewhat skeptical, but Sophie cheers.

Going back into the house is bizarre. It’s dark and silent. He’s never walked into a dark, silent house before. At the den, there were always people there, always sound and light and warmth. He almost can’t bring himself to go inside, but the thought of a mattress spurs him onwards. He desperately needs to sleep.

The delivery people have come and gone. The furniture isn’t exactly where he wants all of it, but at least it’s assembled. He hasn’t bought sheets or towels and he has no idea what clothes he’ll wear the next day. He doesn’t even have a toothbrush.

Derek disappears into the room with the single bed in it and shuts the door without a word. Peter wants to talk to him, but there’s really nothing he can say. “Okay, kids, let’s get you to bed.”

“I need a bath,” Sophie says.

“Well, you’re going to get one tomorrow, because we don’t have any soap yet,” Peter says.

Sophie starts whining again. “Mommy always makes me take a bath before I go to sleep!”

“Sweetheart, I can’t – ” Peter chokes out, and he’s suddenly aware that he’s crying. He sits down on the floor, pulling Sophie and Benjamin against his chest, and tries to pull himself together. It’s impossible. Tears stream down his face and he lets out one hitching sob after another.

“Daddy, don’t cry,” Sophie says. “I’m sorry, I don’t need a bath, please don’t cry.”

“I’m all right, Sophie,” Peter says, somehow finding a way to breathe. “Daddy’s just tired. Let’s go get some sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” Sophie says. Peter picks them both up and heads into the room where they’ve set up the crib and the small child’s bed, and lays them both down. Someone – oh, God, he’s had enough of pity for a lifetime but bless this amazing, thoughtful soul – has provided sheets and blankets and pillows. They’ve even made the beds. He tucks both of the kids in and heads back to his room. He’s so tired that all he does is kick off his shoes before he collapses into bed and falls unconscious.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Chris looks up as the front door bangs open and Allison jogs into the room. “Hey, sweetie. How was school?”

“It was weird,” Allison says.

Chris knows what she means. All the parents had gotten a text that morning about how there would be an assembly and grief counselors available for any of the children who needed to talk to someone. Cora Hale had been in the class below Allison, and this sort of senseless death wasn’t easy for anyone to handle, let alone children. God knows that little Sophie Hale didn’t seem to be handling it well – although really, how well _could_ a five-year-old handle the death of her mother and the rest of her extended family? Chris thinks that in their shoes, he probably would have been throwing a tantrum on the floor right next to her.

He had seen the fire on the ten o’clock news the previous night, and it had given him a nasty shock. He had moved to Beacon Hills several years previous, a year after Victoria’s death and just as Allison was starting school. The town is a hot spot for supernatural trouble; everybody knows that. He had needed a change of scenery, needed to keep busy.

He knew his presence in town would raise questions and create tension, so he had gone to see Talia Hale a few days after they had moved in. Talia seemed partly amused, partly annoyed by his presence. She understood why he was there, of course, and asked him in for coffee. They chatted about their kids and she told him where to get the best take-out Chinese food in town.

They had talked a few times in the intervening years, when supernatural nasties were causing trouble and she had expertise he needed. They weren’t friends, or even allies, but she respected the role he played, and vice versa.

The news the previous night had mentioned a preliminary investigation that suggested it had been an electrical fire, and mentioned that there was only one survivor who had started inside the house – little Sophie, whose mother had thrown her out a window into her father’s arms. Chris had told Allison about it before sending her to school, because he knew people would be talking about it. News spread fast in a town like Beacon Hills.

He had been surprised to see Peter in the electronics store, although it made sense that he would need a new laptop. Chris was accustomed to the pounds of paperwork that came with the death of a family member – he can only imagine what it must be like when someone lost so much at once. Insurance, funeral arrangements, custody – he’ll be at it for days. Chris had felt bad enough for a stranger whose kid was having a tantrum in a public place – he’s been there – and then he had seen who it was. The cries of ‘I want mommy’ went from sympathetic to tragic.

Not that buying Peter’s laptop is going to make him feel better. But at least it kept him from having to go back into the store while his child was distraught. Every little bit must help. He remembers the days after Victoria’s death, when focusing on Allison was all that had kept him sane.

He also remembers eating nothing but Hot Pockets for three weeks straight. With this mind, he says, “You know what I was thinking? Maybe we should bring some of my famous banana nut bread over to the Hales.”

Allison looks up and smiles. “Yeah! I can help. I love to squish the bananas.”

“I know you do,” Chris says, laughing. They both like the bread, so he always has old bananas in the freezer. He’s thinking about what else he might bring over. Of course, he has no idea what the kids like to eat, but most of the kids he’s met can’t argue with spaghetti and meatballs. It would be better if he could leave it in the crockpot for six hours, but he doubts that the Hales will complain.

Over the years, he’s come to genuinely enjoy cooking. After the move to Beacon Hills, he had finally accepted that if he was going to eat decent food, he’d have to learn how to make it himself. It had taken time and effort, but he’d gotten pretty good at it. So it’s no trouble to throw together some spaghetti sauce and then leave it simmering on the stove while he makes the banana bread. Allison is doing her homework at the kitchen table at first, occasionally asking him a question, before she gets up to help with the baking.

Once it’s in the oven, he realizes he doesn’t actually know where to go. After a few moments to mull it over, he swipes through his contact list and calls Deputy Stilinski. They know each other from the previous year, when Claudia had died. Chris had joined the single parent support group after moving to Beacon Hills. They don’t have a lot of meetings, but it’s good to have people you can rely on if you need someone to pick your child up at school, or it’s the night before a school play and your child has suddenly ‘remembered’ you need to make her a costume.

“Hey, Tom, it’s Chris Argent,” he says. “I thought I’d bring some stuff over to the Hales. Do you know where they’re staying?”

“Oh, yeah, Peter’s gotten them a new place, I guess, hang on.” There’s some shuffling in the background. Chris is mildly surprised, but not really. The Hales are rich and Talia’s law firm undoubtedly knows what strings to pull to get accommodations on short notice. There was no reason Peter and the kids would be sleeping in the hospital lobby or even a hotel. “He gave me the address earlier when he called to check on the investigation. Got a pencil?”

“Yeah, hit me,” Chris says, and Tom reads the address to him. “Thanks.”

He hangs up and calls over to Allison, who bounces out to the car. He’s only barely started leaving her alone at home for short periods of time, and he doesn’t like doing it when he doesn’t have to. He supposes he’ll grow out of that eventually, but it’s nerve-wracking at first, even with a level-headed, responsible child like Allison.

“Why don’t you stay in the car, okay?” he asks, as he pulls into the drive of the new house, and Allison makes a face at him. “I’m only going to be a few minutes. We don’t want to overwhelm them.”

“Okay,” she says, a little grumpy.

Chris grabs the paper bag out of the back seat and heads up to the front door. There are lights on inside, so he rings the bell. A few moments later, Peter Hale opens it. He looks like a tragedy, with dark circles under his eyes, hair unbrushed, wearing a cardigan with nothing underneath it and a pair of jeans. “Hi, I – ”

That’s as far as he gets before Peter’s eyes flash vivid crimson. “How _dare_ you?” he snarls, and Chris takes a step backwards and only avoids reaching for his gun with a lot of effort. “How dare you show your face here? After what you and yours did to my family – if you think buying me a laptop is going to make me – ”

“Whoa, hold on,” Chris says, frowning. “I didn’t do anything to your family.”

“You might not have lit the match, but don’t try to claim innocence,” Peter snaps. “Your kind has always been after mine – and don’t think I don’t see you going for your God damned gun, you piece of shit – ”

“I’m going for my gun because an alpha werewolf is behaving very aggressively towards me,” Chris says, struggling to keep his voice calm. “You’d be doing the same in my shoes.”

“But I’m not in your shoes, am I,” Peter retorts. “I’m stuck in my own fucking shoes, that belong to someone whose family was just murdered. What are you doing here?”

“I brought you some food,” Chris says. “Spaghetti for the kids. Banana bread. Murdered? The news said it was probably an electrical fire.”

“Seriously?” Peter sounds impatient and pissed off, which Chris thinks is a step in the right direction. “Yes, a werewolf den just _happened_ to burst into flames. So quickly that nobody got out alive except the five year old. Great work, Sherlock. I don’t need your food and I don’t want your pity.”

“Look, I know that I can’t understand what you’re going through,” Chris says. “But I do know what it’s like to lose my wife, and have a child depending on me and feel like I’m in over my head. So I want you to know that I’m leaving this food on the doorstep. Take it, don’t take it, whatever you want. Throw it in the trash, use the Tupperware for target practice. Or throw it in your freezer for the day your kids are hungry and you don’t have the energy or the will to make something.”

“Fuck you,” Peter says.

“Plus I wrote my phone number on the bag that has the banana bread,” Chris continues, making Peter scowl even more. “Call me if you need anything. My wife died when Allison was only a few years old, so I got pretty experienced in how to raise a little girl by myself.”

“What part of ‘fuck you’ isn’t clear?”

Chris raises his hands in surrender. “I’ll go,” he says, sets the bag down on the front walk, and turns and heads back to the car. “Allison, how would you like to go over to Lydia’s for a while?”

Allison blinks at him. “It’s a school night.”

At this, Chris can’t help but smile. His daughter is more responsible than he is sometimes, and strictly adherent to her schedule – a trait she must have gotten from her mother. “I know, but I’ve got some work I need to do and I don’t want to leave you alone in the house after dark. It’ll only be for about an hour, okay?”

“Okay,” Allison says, and he quickly calls Lydia’s mother to make sure it’s going to be all right. He drops her off and heads out into the preserve.

He parks about a hundred yards away and walks over to the remains of the Hale house. It might be his imagination, but he feels like he can still feel the heat coming off of them. He doesn’t know how long it takes a house to burn out, if the fire department doesn’t actively try to put the fire out. From what’s left, he doubts they had. By the time they had gotten there, the fire had been fully involved, and the structure unsafe to enter. Without neighboring houses to worry about, the easiest thing to do would be to just let it burn itself out and concentrate on making sure it didn’t spread to the forest.

He stops and thinks about how a hunter would have done this, if it had been a hunter. No werewolf was just going to sit inside and wait to die, they would have broken windows or even walls in order to get out. But none of them had.

Sophie had been thrown through a window by her mother. Why hadn’t her mother jumped after her? Thrown any of the other children?

Chris kneels down by the perimeter of the house and rubs his fingers through the dirt, and immediately finds what he’s looking for. The black, gritty feel of mountain ash. Sophie was the only one who had gotten out because she was the only human on the inside of the house. Everyone left inside was a werewolf – even the children.

He stops and lets out a breath. Anger wars with pain in his gut. That someone could do this, that one of his _brothers_ could do this – it’s an affront to everything the hunters are supposed to stand for. He had personally conducted an assessment of the Hale family. They were no threat to anybody. Why would someone do this?

What’s more, what’s with the bullshit about an electrical short? He’ll have to wait until the official report comes out and see what it says. He supposes that it’s possible there actually was an electrical cause for the fire itself. He’s not experienced with this sort of thing, so he wouldn’t know what to look for himself, especially with so little of the house left.

Either way, he can’t let it go. He’s responsible for the safety of all of Beacon Hills’ citizens, even ones with fur and fangs. If another hunter isn’t following the Code, he’ll take care of it. Whether Peter Hale likes it or not.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	3. Chapter 3

 

To be fair, by the time Chris shows up, Peter has already had the third worst day of his life. He had barely gotten any sleep. After collapsing into unconsciousness, he had slept for about two hours before Sophie’s screaming had woken him. She’d had a nightmare, which was unsurprising, really. Her crying woke Benjamin, and then he started crying.

By the time Peter soothed them back both to sleep, it had been over an hour. He tried to go back to sleep, but wound up tossing and turning. When he finally dozed off, his sleep was riddled with bad dreams of his own.

He got up for a little while and walked around the huge, empty house. He wanted desperately to go back to the scene of the crime, to find who had done this to his family. But he couldn’t. The children were asleep and he couldn’t leave them.

He slept for another half hour before Sophie had another bad dream. By the time the two kids were back to sleep, it was nearly dawn, and he decided to just stay up. There was nothing to eat in the house, and he needed coffee if he was going to be even one-quarter functional. At about six AM, he peeked into Derek’s room and found, unsurprisingly, that he was awake.

“Hey,” Peter said. “I’m going to go pick up some coffee and some food. Do you want anything?”

Derek shook his head, not looking up.

Peter let out a breath. “Let me rephrase. I’m going to pick you up something. What do you want?”

At this, Derek glanced over at him, and it was clear he was trying not to cry. “Just, uh . . . tea,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Black tea, like . . . English Breakfast or Earl Grey or something.”

“Okay.” Peter didn’t push for a breakfast order. He would be satisfied with what he had gotten. “If the kids wake up, just tell them I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Derek nodded, and Peter headed down to the car. He found the closest Starbucks. Their pastries are mediocre at best, but what he really wanted was a disgusting, sugary beverage loaded with caffeine. He got that and Derek’s tea and a hot chocolate for Sophie, along with some muffins and croissants.

The house was still quiet when he got back, and he brought Derek his tea and a croissant. Derek took it but wouldn’t leave his room. Peter had barely finished his muffin when he heard Benjamin crying. He went upstairs and got the two kids up for the day, getting them dressed in some of the new clothes and combing through Sophie’s hair with his fingers as best he could.

Derek finally emerged, looking like he hadn’t slept at all. “Can we go see Laura?”

“It’s our first stop,” Peter assured him. “Sophie, go rinse your mouth out. We’ll buy toothpaste today.”

Sophie stuck her tongue out but did as she was told. Peter got them all loaded into the car and took a minute to breathe before heading back to the hospital. Laura’s condition was unchanged. Peter sat by her bedside for about fifteen minutes, draining the pain away, trying not to show how it affected him. Derek curled up in the same chair he had spent the day before in.

“I could use your help wrangling these two while I do the shopping,” Peter said to Derek.

Derek shook his head. “I want to stay with Laura.”

Peter wasn’t up to an argument, so he said okay and headed down to the car. He didn’t even know where to start. He hated stores like Wal-Mart, but where else was he going to find _everything_ they needed? He could always hit up separate stores – Bed Bath and Beyond for towels and dishes, CVS for toothbrushes and deodorant, an electronics store for the appliances – but the thought of getting the kids in and out of the car at multiple stops was exhausting.

He settled for Target. They should have pretty much everything he needed, and he supposed that they were marginally less demonic than their blue counterpart. “Okay, kids,” he said, as he strapped Benjamin into the cart. “We have a lot to buy, so can you do me a favor and be on your best behavior? I’ll buy each of you a new toy if we can make it through the store without either one of you making a fuss.”

“Okay, Daddy!” Sophie chirped. Peter wondered if bribery was the right way to go about parenting, but realized he didn’t care.

He started in the health and beauty section and just walked up and down every aisle, grabbing everything they need. Toothbrushes and toothpaste. Razors, deodorant, hairbrushes, some cute hair clips for Sophie. Then it was on to housewares, where he got dishes, utensils, towels, some extra sheets and blankets. He doesn’t have any idea how to cook. He’s never had to cook in his life. But he bought things to cook with and hoped he would figure it out.

The house only had a few light fixtures, so he bought a couple lamps, which he hadn’t thought to get at the furniture store, and lightbulbs. Then he moved on to electronics, where he got a TV, DVD player, and the first handful of kids’ movies that he saw. He grabbed outfits for both of the kids, as well as some for himself and Derek. If they didn’t fit, he’d return them later.

“Toy, toy, toy,” Sophie said, as they passed the relevant section.

“Okay, go pick something out,” Peter told her, trying to think of all the things he was forgetting. They had walked through the entire store, and he had filled up three carts. The first cart was just sitting up front while an employee kept an eye on it, because it had the TV, the microwave, and the lamps. But the idea of filling a house with three carts from Target seemed ridiculous. He had laundry detergent in the cart but he didn’t even have a washer and dryer. He hoped he could order them online, because he certainly couldn’t fit them in his car.

Sophie trotted back to the cart with a package of Hatchimals and proceeded to tell Peter all about the different animals. She had lost her collection in the fire, she informed him solemnly, and now she needed to start over. Peter resolved to buy her enough Hatchimals to float a battleship, if she was going to handle it so well.

The cashier looked at his three carts full of things with some surprise but wisely didn’t say anything other than the standard greeting. At the end, she said, “Do you need some help out?”

“I thought I would teleport the third cart since I only have two hands, but – ” Peter squelched the sarcasm with effort. “Yes. Thank you.”

They summoned a couple extra employees to help him, so he could hold Sophie’s hand with one hand and push a cart with the other. They got everything loaded into the car, and at some point he had been recognized because the manager showed up to help them out and ask Peter if he had gotten everything he needed. He told her that he was sure there were a hundred things he hadn’t thought of, so not to be surprised if she saw him tomorrow.

“Daddy, I’m hungry,” Sophie said, as they pulled out of the parking lot.

It was a little early for lunch, but they hadn’t had much of a breakfast, so he wasn’t surprised. “Okay, what do you want to eat? I seem to remember you promising you would eat nothing but vegetables today.”

“Daddy!” Sophie protested, laughing. “I didn’t promise that.”

“Oh, no?” Peter asked, smiling at her in the rearview mirror.

“I promised I would eat _a_ vegetable,” Sophie told him solemnly.

“Ah, I remember now,” Peter said. A trip to the grocery is another must, but he’ll manage that after lunch. “All right, then, how about Chinese food?”

“Yay!” Sophie said.

About twenty minutes later, they were back at the house. The first thing Peter brought in was the bouncer; he quickly put that together and then put Benjamin in it. Hopefully that would keep him occupied for a while. He ordered the food and started bringing in more bags. Sophie whined about having to wait to eat, so he gave her the last of the pastries from breakfast.

By the time he had brought everything in, he was exhausted. It still looked like a pitiful amount of belongings, stark against the emptiness of the house. What sort of thing would Olivia or Talia buy, he wondered. They would have thought of things like curtains and paintings to hang on the wall. The house looks barren without them.

On the upside, the food arrived and that cheered Sophie up. Peter methodically ate his way through a plate of lo mein while he scrolled through news articles about the fire on his phone. He remembered that he still had to go by Talia’s office to sign the insurance papers. He could do that next.

His phone rang just as he was packing away the leftovers, and he sees an out of state number. “Hello?”

“Peter, it’s Rick,” Sean’s brother said. “We just got into town.”

“Oh, hi,” Peter said. “I’m sorry, I don’t – I should have picked you up at the airport – ”

“Don’t worry about it. We got a rental. What can we do?”

Peter raked a hand through his hair. “Would you mind – I haven’t even been to the funeral home yet. I have no idea what sort of arrangements need to be made. I’ve been taking care of the kids and trying to deal with the insurance paperwork.”

“Sure,” Rick said. “No problem. What funeral home?”

“I’ll text it to you.”

“Anything in particular you want? For the, the arrangements, for Olivia?”

Peter couldn’t even begin to say. He had never imagined a funeral for any of his family members, let alone his wife. He practically choked on the brief, “no”, but then something occurred to him. “Wait, yes. One thing. You know how at every movie funeral, some mournful young woman sings Amazing Grace? Or worse, plays it on the bagpipes? Olivia hated that song.”

“No Amazing Grace, check,” Rick said, sounding a little amused despite himself. “Maybe something else?”

“Maybe . . . Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” Peter said, and had to choke back more tears. “I’m sorry, I have to go,” he said, and hung up before Rick could reply.

He had to take several deep breaths to steady himself. “Okay, kids,” he said, “let’s go sign some exciting paperwork.”

After the exciting paperwork was the grocery store. He had no idea what to buy, and suspected that he wouldn’t get around to learning to cook for a few weeks at least. He tried to stick to the basics: fruit, bread, eggs, milk. Then he loaded the cart with some frozen pizzas, chicken nuggets, boxes of macaroni and cheese. They could live off that for a week or two. Sophie was being surprisingly good, but Benjamin was getting fussier and fussier as the minutes dragged by. It occurred to Peter suddenly that it was way past his nap time.

“Fuck,” he muttered. He didn’t have time to sit around the house while Benjamin napped. How did parents do this? How the hell was he going to find out who murdered his family when he had the kids to look after? How could they possibly need _so much_ looking after?

He bought the groceries and headed back to the house. Put a movie on for Sophie on his laptop since he hadn’t gotten the TV out of its box yet, and put Benjamin down for his nap. Then he sank onto the sofa, rubbing both hands over his face. Was it okay for him to sleep while Sophie was awake? Did he need to stay awake to keep an eye on her? Would it matter if he dozed off?

With a groan, he got to his feet. He put together the lamps and got the television onto the entertainment center. Unpacked the clothes into the dressers upstairs. Put the soap and shampoo in the bathrooms.

When Benjamin woke up, he was content to go into his bouncer, and in a better temper. Sophie wanted to show Peter all her Hatchimals. He wished he had some of his books. He’d had quite a collection, but like Sophie’s toys, they had all been lost in the fire.

It was getting late. He would need to think about dinner soon. And he felt like he was forgetting something. He retraced his steps. He had put all the groceries away, signed all the paperwork, talked to Rick about the funerals –

“Fuck!” he blurted out.

Sophie perked up. “What’s that word mean?”

“It means I forgot Derek at the hospital,” Peter groaned. “Okay, kids, back to the car.”

Sophie pitched a full-fledged temper tantrum at the idea of going _back_ into the car, and to be honest Peter barely blamed her. It took half an hour to wear herself out, then another half hour to get to and from the hospital, and he was in the process of making everyone spaghetti-os when the doorbell rang and Chris Argent showed up with his damned banana bread.

He waits until he can no longer hear Chris’ car before retrieving the bag from outside. “What’s that?” Sophie asks, as he walks into the kitchen. “It smells good. Can I have some?”

“Sure,” Peter says, because his pride isn’t worth another temper tantrum. He puts the tupperwares full of spaghetti in the refrigerator, then slices some of the banana bread. He gives a piece to each of the kids. He crams half a piece of banana bread in his mouth, then moans involuntarily. It’s _good_. He’s so hungry that he’d probably enjoy charcoal, but this is better than he would have guessed.

“Can we just eat this instead of spaghetti-os?” Sophie says.

Peter leans against the refrigerator, suddenly exhausted beyond words. “Sure,” he says. “Whatever you want.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Somehow, Peter survives the next two days. They’re blurry not only in his memory, but also at the time. He makes two more trips to Target, one to buy curtains and one for more diapers and wipes – how did Benjamin go through them so quickly? – but mostly tries to keep the kids entertained. Sophie’s mood is still volatile, Derek won’t speak to anyone and spends ninety percent of his waking time at Laura’s bedside, and none of them are sleeping well.

Well-meaning people around them have figured out who their new neighbor is, and are bringing casseroles and baked goods, like Chris had. Peter lets them, partly because it’s too much trouble to argue with them, and partly because he still can’t figure out how to cook. He talks to different family members who have come into town for the funerals. They’re going to do them all together, Rick tells him, which is fine by Peter. The shorter they are, the better. There’s no burial to worry about. The ashes will be scattered on the Preserve. Rick has brought Peter some paperwork from the crematorium to sign. He’s the next-of-kin for all the deceased except Aaron, Talia’s husband, and Sean, his cousin Kayla’s husband, and their son.

The memorial service is huge. Eight pack members had been killed, and all of them have friends and coworkers in attendance. A lot of solemn parents are there with children who were Cora or Jocelyn’s classmates. Some of Derek’s classmates are in attendance, and offer awkward words of comfort to him after the eulogies. Laura has friends there as well, who are snuffling as the officiant talks about keeping her in their thoughts as she recovers from her terrible injuries.

“Daddy?” Sophie whispers as the crowd mills around them. “Who are all these people?”

Benjamin’s in the stroller, so Peter has his arms free to scoop her up. “Well, they’re people who were friends with Mommy and Aunt Talia and everybody.”

“Why are they here?”

Peter thinks about that one for a moment. “To say goodbye.”

Sophie frowns. “How can people say goodbye when they’re already gone?”

Peter opens his mouth, then closes it. He has no answer to that question. The grief chokes him for a moment, and he shoves it back down for what feels like the hundredth time. “I don’t know, sweetheart. It’s just something that people do.”

“People are funny,” Sophie says.

“That they are,” Peter agrees.

Finally, finally, it’s over. The crowd dissipates. Peter says goodbye to Rick and to Aaron’s mother, loads the kids into the car, and heads back to the house. He wants to lie down for a week. But he can’t. He doesn’t know when he’ll ever get the chance to just lie down and go to sleep again. Not without picturing the fire behind his eyes, lying there tense waiting for Sophie’s nightmares to start.

“You kids hungry?” he asks, and Sophie says yes. Derek doesn’t answer, but he eats when Peter sets the macaroni and cheese down on the table. He plays with the kids for a while and then puts on a movie for them, and then it’s bath time and bedtime.

Derek is still downstairs, channel surfing and clearly not intending to actually watch anything. Peter picks up his jacket, thinking that he’s finally got a chance to do some investigating. “Derek, can you stay up for an hour or two in case the kids need anything? I’m going to go check out the house and see if I can find any leads.”

“No!” Derek protests, and when Peter glances over at him, he’s gone as white as a sheet. “No, you can’t, what if – what if they come back? What if they set this house on fire, what if I, I can’t get the kids out?”

Peter lets out a breath. The need for revenge is so strong that it’s burning him from the inside out. He needs to know who did this, needs to _punish_ them. But he’s the alpha. His first priority has to be to protect the pack. The grief and the rage choke his throat for a few moments, and he has to concentrate on breathing. “Okay,” he finally says, setting down his jacket. “Okay, sure, I’ll stay home.”

Derek ducks his head and mumbles something in response. Peter doesn’t know what it is and frankly doesn’t care. He sinks onto the sofa next to Derek.

“Look,” he finally says, “I know I can’t replace your parents. But I’m your alpha now, and I – I’ll take care of you. Okay?” He reaches out and squeezes Derek’s wrist. “I love you, nephew. I’ll keep you safe.”

Derek nods and wipes his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry.” Peter takes the remote from him. “Come on, you won’t find anything good until I get the cable set up. Let’s put on another movie.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

The days drag by. Peter settles into something of a routine. Get up, get the kids up. Drive over to the hospital. He typically spends about half an hour there, draining away Laura’s pain. She’s been conscious for a few minutes at a time, but has yet to speak to anybody. The doctors have said a few things about possible brain damage from the smoke inhalation, or psychological trauma.

Derek stays there. He hasn’t gone back to school and Peter doesn’t care to make him. Some official came over and when Peter said he couldn’t go back yet, they had Peter sign some paperwork officially withdrawing him for the semester.

Then he goes home and plays with the children, a never-ending, exhausting endeavor. They’re capable of entertaining themselves, but Sophie still wants his attention all the time. The social worker said she’s just adjusting to the loss of her mother and the rest of her family, that the best thing to do is get her into a routine and slowly reintroduce some autonomy into her life.

He’s still on the phone with lawyers off and on throughout the day. The wills are being probated, the insurance plans are paying out. There’s custody paperwork for Derek. There’s always something. Talia’s firm is handling it, so at least he’s secure in the knowledge that it’s being done properly. They keep him up to date and occasionally have him come in and sign paperwork. He doesn’t bother trying to do any of his own work. Money isn’t an issue. He sets his work e-mail to give an automatic response stating he’s out of the office indefinitely, with a list of other consultants people can use. The official investigation labels it as an accidental electrical fire and the police close it, putting it out of mind.

He’s exhausted all the time. Sophie is still up two or three times a night, and has to nap during the day to compensate. Even when Peter has time to sleep, he has bad dreams of his own. He wakes up reaching for his wife.

The grief doesn’t go away, but it changes. It condenses, forming a solid brick in his chest. It sits on him, suffocating him when he least expects it. He refuses to give in to it.

The neighbors gradually stop coming by, and he buys more frozen dinners to compensate. Sophie whines about the quality of the food, and he tells her that he’s doing the best he can. Things will get better. He repeats it constantly, like a mantra. Things will get better. He wishes he believed it. Maybe they will get better, for the children. But he doesn’t think a day will ever go by for him where he’s not being choked by the grief or strangled by the knowledge that his family’s killer is still out there. In the evenings, he sits and watches TV with Derek, turning his brain off as best as he can.

He’s in the middle of making dinner when Sophie comes in from the backyard covered in mud. “Oh, Lord, what did you do?” Peter asks.

“I made friends with a squirrel!” Sophie says cheerfully.

“I see that you did,” Peter says. “Let’s get you cleaned up – Derek, can you keep an eye on Benjamin for me?” he adds, and Derek just nods from where he’s hunched up on the sofa with a book.

She’s truly caked herself in mud, so he puts her in the shower and scrubs out her hair, and he’s just gotten it all lathered up with shampoo when he hears Benjamin wailing downstairs. “Hell,” he mutters to himself, and despairs of not teaching his children profanity. He knows he isn’t supposed to leave children alone in the bathtub – although he doesn’t know how old they have to be before he can. Sophie’s pretty smart for a five-year-old, surely she couldn’t drown in three inches of water – but he’s not about to take that risk. “Hang on, sweetheart, just stay up here on the landing until I’ve figured out why your brother is crying.”

“Okay,” Sophie says, zooming back and forth and shedding bubbles everywhere.

As it turns out, Benjamin was running around, tripped, and banged his shin on the table. It’s bleeding, and he’s howling as much as any werewolf baby. “I told you to watch him,” Peter snaps at Derek.

“I was watching him!” Derek shouts, and then shoves his way past Peter and up the stairs. Peter hears the bedroom door slam a bare moment later.

“Son of a bitch – stop crying, kiddo, you’re all right, it’s just a little bump – ” Peter says, and then the doorbell rings. “For Christ’s sake!” he snarls, and stalks over to it, whipping it open.

It’s Chris Argent. He’s holding another brown paper bag.

Peter is about to unleash another rant when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye, and he half-turns to see Sophie giggling as she monkeys her way around on the banister on the landing upstairs. “Sophie!” he yells. “I’ve told you a hundred times not to – ”

The sudden yelling startles her, and she loses her grip. She gives a little shriek as she plummets towards the hardwood floor below. Peter knows he should move, but he’s frozen, the shout dying in his throat. It’s Chris who drops the bag, elbows his way past Peter, and catches her before she can hit the floor.

It’s too much. Peter sits down on the bottom step and starts crying so hard that he can’t breathe. He can’t do this. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, he’s screwing everything up, and he’s so tired that he can’t stay in control anymore. The grief escapes from his chest in a flood of sobs.

“Daddy?” Sophie says. “Daddy, I’m sorry, I – ”

Peter tries to wave her off. Chris comes to his rescue again, saying soothingly, “Your Daddy’s okay, honey, he was just scared when you fell. Here, let’s go see why your brother is crying, okay? Peter, just – ” Chris picks up a pillow from the sofa and hands it to Peter. “Just stay here and let it out. I’ll handle this.”

Peter can’t stop crying long enough to nod or voice agreement. He buries his face in the pillow and uses it to muffle his sobs.

The next fifteen to twenty minutes are a blur. He catches bits of what Chris is saying occasionally, out of context but calm and reassuring. “See, just a little bruise – there’s that smile I knew you had in you – okay, let’s turn off this burner – Sophie, let’s go get that soap out of your hair – ”

Peter finally stops crying, but stays on the floor, too tired to move. He doesn’t know how much time has passed before Chris is at his side again. “Okay, let’s get you up,” Chris says, getting an arm around Peter’s shoulders.

“Kids – need dinner – ” Peter mumbles, listing against him.

“I’ll take care of the kids,” Chris says. “You need to rest.”

Peter tries to take the stairs, but stumbles. Chris picks him up like he doesn’t weigh a thing, and carries him up to the bedroom. He knows he should care about the fact that he’s leaving his children alone with a hunter, but he doesn’t. He just doesn’t have the capacity to process it. Chris takes off Peter’s shoes and draws the blankets up over him, and Peter is asleep before he turns out the light.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	4. Chapter 4

 

Peter wakes up with a start and sees that his room is flooded with sunlight. He feels – not exactly well-rested, but certainly less like death warmed over. He has no idea how long he’s slept, and is stunned he slept the night through, without bad dreams or the children’s bad dreams. He flings the covers aside, sees that he’s still dressed, and charges downstairs. He’s almost afraid of what he’s going to find.

What he finds is his children sitting at the table, eating breakfast. There’s a third child there, one he doesn’t recognize, a brunette about Cora’s age. And Chris Argent, sitting in the fourth chair, cutting scrambled eggs into small pieces for Benjamin.

“Daddy!” Sophie cheers, bouncing out of her chair and leaping onto him.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Peter says, picking her up around the waist and giving her a tight squeeze. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Uh huh. Mr. Chris checked for monsters in my closet and I only had one bad dream.”

“That’s great,” Peter says, surprised that it didn’t wake him. His stomach growls, and he gives Chris a somewhat wary look.

“Coffee?” Chris says, gesturing to the coffee maker.

“God, yes.” Peter pours himself a mug, adds sugar and cream, and then starts dishing himself up some breakfast, wariness be damned. He glances around and adds, “Where’s Derek?”

Chris winces a little. “He, uh, he’s in his room. Wouldn’t come out for breakfast.”

Peter finds himself somewhat reassured that Chris isn’t actually a miracle-worker. He looks at the brunette and says, “And who is this?”

“Oh, right. My daughter, Allison. Allison, Mr. Hale.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Allison says, with a sweet smile.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Chris adds. “She was at a friend’s house when I stopped by yesterday, but I didn’t want to leave your kids with you so soundly asleep, so I had her dropped off here. She slept on the couch down here; I slept on the floor up in the kids’ room.”

“No, I don’t . . .” Peter lets out a breath and takes a drink of his coffee. “Not at all. Thank you, for yesterday. I’m not sure what happened.”

Chris gives a little shrug, then directs his attention to the two little girls and smiles at them. “You two all done? Why don’t you wash your hands and go play out back?”

“Okay!” Both girls jump from their seats and head for the sink. A minute later, the back door bangs open, then shut. Peter glances out the window in the kitchen, glad that he can see both of them as they start running around.

“What happened,” Chris says as he continues to feed the baby, “is that you were exhausted. It happens. You shove everything down for the sake of the kids, bottle it all up and try not to feel anything. But you can’t do it forever. I’m just glad I was here to help.”

Peter pushes his hands through his hair. “I suppose I should apologize for having been an asshole when you first came by.”

Chris shrugs. “You were grieving. I get it.”

“Why did you show up yesterday?”

“Because I know how it goes. For the first week, everyone is all over you. They bring by food and give you all the help you can stomach. Then the funerals are over and they all go back to their own lives. They don’t mean to do it. They have their own problems. But that’s when you’re really on your own. So I decided to come check on you.”

Peter nods. “Thanks. I’d say it’s not normally so chaotic, but . . .”

This makes Chris chuckle. “It’s always something.”

“Yeah.” Peter sighs. “I need to go check on Derek. Do you mind keeping an eye on the kids for a few minutes?”

“No problem.”

Peter fills up another plate with some scrambled eggs and pancakes, which Chris Argent apparently somehow conjured up from his kitchen, and takes it upstairs. He knocks on Derek’s door, then opens it when there’s no answer. Derek is curled up in bed, but he opens his eyes when Peter comes in. “Brought you some breakfast,” Peter says. Derek sighs and sits up. “Go ahead and eat, and then we’ll go down to the hospital.”

Derek nods. “Who’s that guy?”

“His name is Chris. He’s from the single parents support group. He came by to check on us yesterday and . . . I’m sorry I fell apart on you.” Peter sits down on the edge of the bed. “And I’m sorry I snapped at you about Benjamin. That wasn’t fair of me.”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees, but he starts eating. “But it’s okay you fell apart. I mean. You’ve been taking care of us this whole time, and you . . .” He swallows hard. “You lost a lot, too.”

“I know.” Peter sighs. “Maybe it’s not such a bad thing to accept a little help now and then.”

Derek shrugs. “Maybe.”

When he goes back downstairs, Benjamin is done eating, has a clean face, and is in his bouncer. Chris is loading the dishes into the dishwasher. “Please, you’ll make me feel totally helpless,” Peter says. “I think I can manage that much myself, after you cooked breakfast. Not to mention everything else you did.”

Chris shakes his head a little. “There was another reason I came by.” He closes the dishwasher and turns to face Peter. “You were right.”

“About which part?”

“The fire. It wasn’t an accident.”

The glass Peter is holding shatters in his hand. He swears, shaking the remnants of it off. The wounds heal a few moments later. Chris doesn’t flinch, doesn’t say anything. Peter takes a deep breath. “Yes, I know that. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“The mountain ash was a specific kind,” Chris says. He kneels down and starts picking up some of the larger fragments of glass. “Sorbus aucuparia sibrica. Only found in northeastern Russia. Not many hunters use it. I’ve put some feelers out to the Druids in the area to see if I can find out who might have gotten some recently.”

“Why?” Peter asks.

“Why?” Chris echoes.

“Yes. Why are you asking about this? Why are you helping me?”

Chris turns and pulls out the trash can, throwing away the pieces of glass. “I personally conducted a threat assessment on your family after moving here. They were no danger to anybody.” He turns to face Peter. “I take the Code seriously, Peter. Whoever hurt your family violated everything I stand for. I won’t insult you by saying I want to catch them as badly as you do, but I _do_ want them found and brought to justice.”

“And what’s your idea of justice?” Peter asks. “Do you honestly think they’re going to be arrested? How are you going to explain ‘impenetrable wall of supernatural tree dust’?”

“I don’t have to. The police report has false evidence, which means that the arson investigator was bribed. We track that, we find evidence they started the fire – the mountain ash is irrelevant. _Why_ your family didn’t leave the house doesn’t matter, not in the law’s eyes. They didn’t, so they died, and whoever set the fire is responsible for that.”

Peter nods slowly. He doesn’t intend for an instant to let whoever killed his family go to jail, but if Chris has ideas about how to find them, that’s fine by him. He can use Chris’ investigation since he doesn’t have time to conduct his own. “Okay. You’ll keep me posted?”

“Of course.” Chris glances around. “Where’s your vacuum?”

Peter blinks at him.

“Ah,” Chris says. “Okay.” He gets some paper towels and wets them down. “This is the best way to pick up the glass fragments, but it’s not foolproof. Don’t let the two kids in here until you’ve gotten a vacuum and used it.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Peter says, amused despite himself. He realizes that he does feel better. Whether it’s from the sleep or the food or just from having let some of the pressure off, he feels at least a little bit alive again.

“I’ve got to get going. Allison has gymnastics today. I’ve put my number on the fridge. Call me if you need anything.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

The next few days pass without incident. Peter is still exhausted, and he feels foggy and strangely disconnected a lot of the time. It’s hard to focus, even on things he cares about. He watches a lot of television – probably too much. He has to force himself to leave the house, and if it wasn’t for Laura in the hospital, doesn’t know that he ever would.

He tells himself that he shouldn’t need to call Chris. The hunter has better things to do than cater to him, and now that he’s a little more copacetic, he doesn’t want to be dependent on anybody. Especially not a hunter.

That gets him through three days before Sophie gleefully shoves an entire wad of paper towels down the sink. Peter shouts at her, and she starts wailing, and by the time he’s calmed her down, the entire kitchen has flooded. Derek is at the hospital with Laura, and Benjamin is supposed to be napping, but of course he wakes up as soon as Sophie starts crying.

Without any better ideas and certainly with no idea how to fix the sink, Peter calls Chris. “My child is destroying my house.”

Chris laughs at that. “What’d she do?”

“She put an entire roll of paper towels down the sink and flooded the kitchen. Should I call a plumber? Do you know a plumber?” Peter rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m not the sort of person who knows plumbers.”

“It’s probably not that bad,” Chris says. “I can be over in about half an hour.”

“If you’re sure,” Peter says. He hates being in someone’s debt, but the idea of trying to handle this himself makes him want to curl up under his bed. He sinks down onto the sofa after saying goodbye to Chris, and Sophie crawls into his lap. He strokes her hair and tries to stay awake.

Chris shows up with a toolkit, but after a quick look under the sink, says he shouldn’t need it. “You’ve got the kind of pipes that are made so you can just unscrew them,” he says. “Got a bucket?”

“I definitely did not buy a bucket,” Peter says.

Chris shrugs a little. “Oh well. Everything’s already soaked, anyway.” He unscrews the pipes and spends some quality time pulling out wads of wet paper towel. Peter tries to help mop the floor, but mostly just ends up leaning against the wall. Chris looks at him critically. “You really don’t look so good. When was the last time you ate?”

“This morning,” Peter says, somewhat waspishly. “I’m not an idiot. I know I need to eat.”

“Mm hm.” Chris walks over to the refrigerator and looks at the contents, then does the same at the freezer. “I should have thought of this when I was here the other day.”

“Thought of what?” Peter asks.

“I’m going to go buy you some groceries, and then make you something to eat,” Chris says.

Peter snarls at him. “I’m not asking you to do that.”

“You’ll thank me later,” Chris says, and leaves the house. Peter grumbles a little and continues pushing around a towel with his toe, pretending he’s sopping up the water. Chris comes back about half an hour later with two paper bags from the grocery store and one from a kitchen store. Peter looks at him suspiciously as he unloads his purchases. One of them is a broiling pan. “A grill would be better, but this will work.” He slaps a package of steak on the counter. “You need red meat.”

“My dietary needs aren’t your concern – ”

“Peter,” Chris interrupts, “you’re a werewolf. You need red meat. It looks like you’ve mostly been eating frozen pizza and sandwiches. That’s why you’re so tired and so pale. Go sit down while I do this.”

Peter continues growling, but goes and sits down anyway. A few minutes later, a wonderful aroma starts to drift out of the kitchen, and Peter starts salivating. He reminds himself firmly that drooling is okay among wolves but not recommended among human company. But he can’t help but poke his head back into the kitchen. Chris sees him, and arches an eyebrow, and Peter just scowls at him. “Rare is fine,” he says, wanting the steak to be done as soon as possible.

“I hear most werewolves prefer it that way,” Chris replies.

“You cook for a lot of werewolves?”

“I read books.”

“What books are those?” Peter can’t help but snark. “101 Ways to Kill a Werewolf? Werewolf Hunting and You?”

Chris doesn’t dignify that with a reply. Peter stares at the oven.

Several eternities later, Chris takes out the steaks. Peter reaches for one, and Chris grabs his wrist. “They’re supposed to rest for five minutes.”

Peter stares at him. “I will kill you. _Slowly_.”

Chris smirks a little and says, “Here I thought your dietary needs weren’t my concern.”

Peter ducks around him and sinks his teeth into one of the steaks. An involuntary moan escapes his lips. It’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, despite the fact that it’s burning the inside of his mouth. He doesn’t even see the way Chris is flushing faintly pink at the orgasmic noises he’s making. When he finishes demolishing the steak, he licks his lips and says, “You’re okay, Argent.”

At this, Chris snorts. “Thanks for the vote of approval.”

Peter carefully selects a second steak and decides to try using a knife and fork for this one. He’ll save the third for Derek, for when he gets home. “Any luck on your investigation?”

“Not yet. The mountain ash was a dead end. None of the Druids around here make that specific kind, which means that whoever used it brought it with them.”

“What about the arson investigator?”

“He refuses to talk to me, and with the official case closed, I can’t get a warrant for his phone records or anything. But I’m still working on it.”

Peter nods and changes the subject, because although it’s okay for him to be interested, he doesn’t want to look _too_ interested. If Chris figures out he’s going to piggyback off his investigation, he might stop sharing details with him. “Seriously, why do you know so much about how to cook for werewolves? Don’t tell me that the books the Argent family uses have a lot about how to keep werewolves _alive_.”

Chris sighs. “No, they don’t. It happens to be something your sister told me.”

Peter tightens up a little, involuntarily. “Talia?”

“Yeah. You know we met a few times. She told me things about werewolves, about how they were different from humans but not in bad ways. About communal child-raising, dietary habits and pack meals, play during the full moon. I think she was trying to educate me, hoping that I would in turn educate others.”

“Sounds like something Talia would do.” Peter takes another bite. “You’re a good cook, though. I know I don’t have Bisquick, which means you made those pancakes from scratch the other day.”

“Anything’s possible in the era of smart phones,” Chris says. “Anyway, pancakes are easy.”

“If you say so.” Peter chews and swallows, then says, “Maybe you could teach me. Sophie’s getting really sick of chicken nuggets, and I didn’t even think that was _possible_.”

Chris laughs. “Sure. What time do you usually eat?”

“Six-ish. I’ve been picking Derek up from the hospital at five.”

“That should work for me.” Chris hesitates, then says, “He’s still spending all day there?”

“Yeah. I can’t . . . I can’t talk him out of it. I’m not even sure I should. No matter where he is, he just curls up with a book and looks miserable. If he wants to do that in Laura’s hospital room, there’s no harm in it, I guess. I feel like he’s beating himself up about it and I don’t even know why.”

Chris frowns a little. “I just realized – I don’t actually know why you and Derek weren’t there during the fire.”

“I was bringing Benjamin to the doctor. I picked Derek up after school and we had to stop by Staples to grab some things for a school presentation he was doing.” Peter shrugs. “I could see him being guilty if someone had been there who wasn’t supposed to be, because of him, but taking him to the store is the reason the kids and I survived. I don’t get it. But he doesn’t want to talk about it and I don’t want to push him.”

“It’s only been a few weeks,” Chris says, nodding. “Probably best just to give him time.”

“Yeah.” Peter looks over at Chris, suddenly feeling exhausted again. “Does it ever get better?”

Chris hesitates. “It’ll never be the same,” he says, “but it does get better. You find a new normal. The pain, the loss – it doesn’t go away. But you learn how to carry it.”

Peter nods. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Chris finishes his drink and says, “Allison’s going to be home soon, so I’d better go. But I’ll come over tomorrow, if you want – teach you how to boil an egg, if that’s the skill level we need to start at.”

For the first time since the fire, Peter smiles. “That sounds like just the right place.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Chris stares into his closet and wonders why he’s taking more than two seconds to grab the first shirt he sees. He’s already spent half an hour trying to figure out what he should teach Peter to cook. None of this should be so complicated. But he keeps thinking back to the way Peter had smiled the previous day. He was tired and disheveled and looked like a tragedy, but the way he had smiled had gone right to Chris’ heart.

None of which mattered. There’s absolutely no way anything is going to happen between him and Peter. His wife had just died. It’s appalling that Chris is attracted to him. He wishes he could just shut down his hormone production altogether. That’s not even going into the fact that he’s a hunter and Peter’s a werewolf and anything between them would only end in disaster.

“Whatcha doing, Daddy?” Allison asks, and Chris nearly smacks his head on the doorframe. He turns to see his daughter giving him an impish smile.

“Just getting dressed,” Chris says, grabbing the shirt closest to him.

“You said we were just going over to have dinner at the Hales’?” Allison says.

“We are,” Chris says, then turns to her, buttoning the shirt up. “But it’s important to dress well and pay attention to your appearance. It’s a good way to show your attention to detail.”

“Uh huh.” Allison clearly isn’t impressed.

On the upside, she doesn’t ask any more questions, and Chris doesn’t have to explain how poorly timed attraction can be even as an adult. He heads downstairs to pack up what he’ll need to make dinner. After more debate than the subject merited, he had settled on meatloaf. It’s easy and filling, and Peter probably still needs more red meat. But he doesn’t want to overestimate what Peter has in his kitchen. So he’s bringing everything he needs, dishes and utensils included.

Peter looks at least a little less of a disaster this evening. He’s shaved, and his hair is damp and neat. He’s wearing a V-neck T-shirt and jeans, and Chris feels like he’s in a room with the sun. He can’t look directly at Peter without catching on fire.

Sophie is running around, and Benjamin immediately starts tugging on Chris’ pant leg to get his attention. Chris picks him up and holds him while Peter takes the bag of cooking equipment. “Why don’t you kids play in here while we’re cooking?” Chris suggests, gesturing to the living room, which is visible through the kitchen archway.

“I brought some My Little Ponies,” Allison says immediately, with her warm smile. Sophie, naturally, is all about the ponies, and the three of them settle down. Benjamin starts chewing on one of them while Allison and Sophie play with them in a more traditional manner. Peter follows Chris into the kitchen, looking a little apprehensive.

“Cooking’s intimidating, but it’s not as difficult as most people think it is,” Chris says. “I mean, it’s basically just following instructions. You’ll get a feel for it after a while, but it comes from practice, experience. I guess some people really do have intuition for it, but even if you don’t, you can still learn. If that makes sense.”

“I suppose it does,” Peter says, though he gives a shrug like he doesn’t really care. “So what’s on the menu?”

“Meatloaf and mashed potatoes,” Chris says. He opens up the recipe book he’s compiled over the years. “Meatloaf is one of the simplest things you can make. You just mix up the hamburger, egg, bread crumbs, and onions, then bake it.”

“I wonder who invented meatloaf,” Peter says. “Because it sounds revolting.”

“Probably some poor person trying to stretch out the beef and throwing in whatever they had available,” Chris says. He sets down a mixing bowl and the ingredients, then turns on the oven to preheat. Peter wrinkles his nose a little, watching as Chris gets all the ingredients set on the counter.

“You’re going to have me do this?” he asks.

“No time like the present,” Chris says, gesturing. Peter shrugs and uses his claws to open the package of hamburger, and Chris practically facepalms. “ _That’s_ sanitary.”

“My hands are clean,” Peter says, sounding offended. “Anyway, isn’t the point of cooking it to kill all the bacteria?”

“Yes, that’s exactly how it works,” Chris says, shaking his head. “But, uh, one other thing.” He glances into the other room and then lowers his voice. “Allison doesn’t actually know about werewolves, so . . .”

Peter gives him an incredulous look. “You hunt monsters for a living, and you haven’t even told your daughter they _exist_?”

“She’s still a kid. There’s no reason to expose her to that, that side of the world yet. It’s dangerous.”

For a minute, it looks like Peter might argue with him. Then he apparently decides it’s not worth his time, and just says, “Your kid, Argent. But I might point out that she’s going to find out about them real fast if she keeps playing with Sophie. My daughter has many positive qualities, but a filter isn’t one of them. If she hasn’t mentioned her daddy being a werewolf by the time you guys leave tonight, I’ll be extremely surprised.”

“She already did, when we stayed overnight. Allison just figured she has an active imagination.”

Peter rolls his eyes so hard that he probably sees the back of his skull, but to Chris’ relief, doesn’t continue to talk about the issue. Chris hands Peter a measuring cup and the canister of bread crumbs. Peter measures out the bread crumbs and the spices, then cracks in the eggs. “Okay, let me show you the best way to cut an onion,” Chris says, picking up the knife.

“Okay,” Peter says, then rears back as soon as Chris starts chopping. “Oh, God,” he says, coughing.

“What?” Chris says, then sees tears streaming down Peter’s face. “Wolves and onions are a bad mix, I take it?”

“I had no idea they were so intense,” Peter says, still coughing. “I always made fun of Talia and Kayla for wearing those goggles and noseplugs when they chopped onions, but now I totally understand. I . . .” He wipes his eyes absently, then says softly, “I suppose I’ll never be able to apologize for that.”

Chris reaches out and squeezes his wrist. He knows that Peter won’t want to hear platitudes, so he keeps talking about the onions. “Blow your nose. It’ll help clear the onion out of your sinuses.”

Peter nods and grabs a paper towel when no tissues leap into his hands. He blows his nose and then rinses off his face. “I guess I’ll have to get a pair of those goggles for myself.” He waits until Chris is done chopping to approach, then takes the spoon and starts mixing everything together. “I hope this tastes better than it looks.”

“Have you seriously never had meatloaf before?” Chris asks.

“Oh, I have, but I’ve never seen it uncooked,” Peter replies, dumping the mix into the pan. He spreads the ketchup on top, as instructed, and glances over into the other room to make sure the kids are still playing quietly. Then they put it into the oven. “Okay, now what?”

“Now we’ve got a little bit of time,” Chris says. “One of the hardest things about cooking is learning how long things take, and getting dishes to finish at the same time. But we don’t need to start the potatoes until about twenty minutes before the meatloaf is done.”

“Okay. Want a beer?”

“Sure, love one.”

Peter goes over to the refrigerator and pulls out two bottles, handing one of them over. He pulls at his pensively, looking over at the kids again.

“Oh, by the way, I brought you something,” Chris says, rooting around in the bag and pulling out a book. “It’s about nutritional needs of kids. It was a lifesaver when I was trying to figure things out. I had no idea how much of what things I needed to feed Allison. I would look at the amount of food on her plate and be sure I was starving her to death.”

“Thanks,” Peter says, taking it. He studies the cover for a moment but then shakes his head. “It’s not that I don’t want to learn how to cook. I just can’t help but wonder how people do it. Single parenthood. I mean, I’m lucky. I don’t have to work. I’ve got more than enough money to never work a day in my life. What the hell I would do if I didn’t, I have no idea.”

“Well, that’s where things like daycare and preschool come in,” Chris says.

Peter shakes his head again. “I can’t imagine letting them out of my sight that long, to be honest. Trusting another adult with them.”

“It’s a little different for you, I guess,” Chris admits. “It must be a lot harder when your wife, your family, is murdered.”

“Yeah. How did your wife die?” Peter takes a drink of his beer and then adds, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Chris shrugs slightly. “It’s not exactly something I enjoy talking about, but I don’t mind. Though you might,” he adds, and Peter gives him a questioning look. “Victoria was bitten by an alpha, on a hunt. She killed herself rather than turn.”

Peter’s eyebrows go up, and then he turns away, though not before Chris can see him rolling his eyes. “I see.”

“You can say what you’re thinking. I won’t mind, and trust me, it won’t be anything I haven’t thought in the years since. How could she do that? Did she really think being a werewolf would be so awful that she would rather leave her child motherless? What sort of bullshit is that?”

Peter snorts. “That pretty much was what I was thinking, yeah.”

“I know. It was . . . hard to deal with. Hell, it still is. And by the way, I’d appreciate it if you don’t mention it. Allison was only four. I’ve never told her . . . she thinks her mom died in an accident. I’d say I’ll tell her when she’s ‘old enough to understand’ but I’m not sure that’s the sort of thing that makes sense with age.”

“God knows it doesn’t to me.” Peter looks thoughtful. “Did she really think lycanthropy is that bad?”

“I guess. I don’t know. As kids, we were both raised on the horror stories of the mindless monsters that lycanthropy resulted in. About how they would always eventually lose control, hurt people. Even when I got older and met werewolves who had lived peacefully their entire lives, it was a hard mindset to break out of. And Victoria’s sister was killed by a werewolf, so I think it was even more ingrained for her. I tried to talk her out of it, swore I would make sure she never hurt anyone, but she . . .” Chris pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the tears. “It was a long time ago.”

“I guess if I have one advantage over you, at least my losses are . . . uncomplicated. At least I have someone to blame, even if I don’t know who that is yet.”

“Yeah. I won’t lie and say I wasn’t angry. I was. But the more time passes, the more I’m just . . . I look at Allison and feel so sad that Victoria is missing this. She would have loved her so much.”

They drink in silence for a minute. Then Peter clears his throat and says, “In any case, it’s frustrating. There are things I need to be doing. Someone murdered my family and I’m just, just sitting here.”

“If letting me do the legwork doesn’t sit well with you, I could probably help you find someone to watch the kids,” Chris says. “The support group is actually pretty helpful about that, particularly if it’s only for a few hours.”

“Maybe,” Peter says, his tone painfully noncommittal.

Seeing that’s a dead end, Chris says, “Can’t Derek watch them, though? I mean, he’s fifteen, he’s old enough to baby-sit for a little while.”

“He is, but . . . when I tried to leave them with him, he panicked.” Peter shakes his head and downs the last of his beer. “Asked what would happen if the killers came back. I can’t . . . I have to protect them. That’s my duty, my _imperative_ , as the alpha. It’s difficult to explain how that feels. The part of me that wants revenge is the man, but the part of me that wants to guard the children is the wolf. And in a fight like that, the wolf usually wins.”

“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing in this case,” Chris says. “I’m making progress. We’ll make sure whoever killed your family is brought to justice.”

Peter nods slightly, then says, “Potatoes?”

“Sure.”

Peeling potatoes isn’t difficult, and Chris tries to lighten the mood a little by telling him about the time he tried to make French fries and nearly set the kitchen on fire. Then he realizes that a story about his house almost burning down probably won’t help anywhere near as much as he thinks it will, and trails off in the middle. It seems like Peter is about to question this, but fortunately for Chris, Sophie has gotten bored playing with the ponies and comes in to demand her father’s attention. “Can I help?”

“Sure,” Peter says, and then adds to Chris, “Five is old enough to handle a knife, right?”

Chris blinks at him, but then he sees the smirk at the corner of Peter’s mouth and realizes he’s joking. “Sure, Allison was great with knives by then.”

Sophie looks up at them eagerly, and Chris is trying not to laugh as Peter scoops her up. “I know,” he says. “Why don’t you sort these potatoes so I know which ones to peel first?”

“Okay!” Sophie says, as he sets the bag of potatoes down on the floor. He’s already got several on the counter that he can work on while she plays with them.

Once those are boiling away, Chris gets out two bags of frozen carrots. “So frozen vegetables aren’t cheating?” Peter asks.

“Oh, they’re totally cheating,” Chris says, and Peter snorts. “But they’re not bad, especially carrots and green beans. I try to get fresh veggies a couple times a week, but frozen ones are a godsend for nights when you’re busy and you don’t have time to wash and chop everything.” He dumps them in a bowl and puts them in the microwave.

Everything gets finished at roughly the same time. The carrots first, then the potatoes about five minutes later. Then they need to wait about ten minutes for the meatloaf, although they use some of that time mashing the potatoes. “That’s not so bad, really,” Chris says.

Chris takes the kids to wash up while Peter goes upstairs to get Derek. He comes down looking sullen and tired, but livens up a little when he smells the food. All the kids dive in, and even Peter admits that it came out pretty well. He still seems a little dubious of the meatloaf, but he’s hungry, and he cleans his plate. Sophie plays in her potatoes for much longer than Peter wants to allow, and whenever he tells her to eat them, she takes a bite and then goes right back to playing with them.

When they finish eating, Chris starts to clear the table. Derek stands up and takes the stack of plates. “I’ll do the dishes,” he says, and ducks his head slightly. “Mom always said that the people who cooked aren’t responsible for cleaning.”

It’s the first time he’s mentioned his mother since the fire. Chris catches Peter knuckling a few tears out of his eyes, but doesn’t point it out.

“Okay, kids, let’s go upstairs for bath time,” Peter says, lifting Benjamin out of his high chair. He looks at Chris, suddenly looking awkward. “You’re welcome to stay, I suppose . . .?”

Chris smiles. “That’s okay. I’ll let you get them to bed. I’m sure Allison has homework she’s been putting off, anyway.”

“Daaaaad,” Allison groans, but doesn’t actively contradict him.

“All right,” Peter says, and clears his throat. “I’ll see you soon, then. Derek, could you lock up after Chris and Allison?”

“Sure,” Derek says, and Peter heads up the stairs without another word.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	5. Chapter 5

 

Peter is getting used to the evening routine. He’s getting better at wrangling both of the children through bath time, combing through Sophie’s damp hair, putting Benjamin to bed multiple times. This is Sophie’s worst time of day; she gets whiny and needy just before bed. Peter knows why. She’s afraid of the nightmares, and she hates being left alone. Peter has had to wait in the room with her until she falls asleep over fifty percent of the time.

But he tries to leave her every night, because she’ll have to get used to it eventually. She crawls under the covers and he sits down to read her a story. She listens intently, although her eyes droop occasionally. It was a busy day.

“Daddy?” she whispers, after he’s done reading and is getting up to leave.

He sits back down. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“Is Chris going to be our daddy now, too?”

Peter’s mouth twitches slightly despite himself. Sophie is vaguely acquainted with same-sex couples – one of Talia’s law partners was gay, and he and his husband and two children had come over many times. So it’s a reasonable question. “I think it’s a little soon to be adopting a new daddy.”

“He’s really nice,” Sophie says. “I like him.”

“Well, I’m glad you like him. He’s been helping me out a lot, because I had a lot of questions about how to take care of you.”

“Is he smarter than you?”

Peter chuckles at this. “No. But everyone knows about different things. Chris knows a lot about raising little girls, and now he’s teaching me.”

“Do you like him?”

“I think he’s a very kind, generous man.” Peter sees Sophie’s questioning look. “Generous means that he gives things to people, even when he doesn’t have to.”

“Ohhh.” Sophie smiles sleepily. “Okay. G’night, Daddy.”

“Good night, sweetheart.” He stays there a few more minutes, even though Sophie doesn’t seem to need him to, watching her chest rise and fall. Then he slides out of the room, turning off the lamp on his way.

He goes downstairs to find that Derek has finished with the dishes, and the dishwasher is chugging away. He’s going to have to make a list of the things Chris brings over, to make sure that he returns them at some point. Chris obviously doesn’t care, but he’s not going to be making them dinner _every_ night. Presumably. Peter isn’t sure when the next time Chris plans on coming over is, and he’s not sure when it’s okay to ask. “It really _is_ like texting after the first date,” he mutters to himself.

“What?” Derek asks from the sofa.

“Nothing,” Peter says. “Anything good on TV?”

“No,” Derek says. He’s curled up with a book, although the TV is on in the background. He puts it down when Peter sits down. “So Chris is teaching you how to cook?”

“Uphill battle though it may be, yes,” Peter says.

Derek fidgets for a few moments, then says, “Do you think maybe he knows how to make lasagna? I just . . . that was Laura’s favorite, and I thought maybe I could bring her some, maybe the, the smell of it would make her wake up, make her talk to me.”

“I’ll ask him,” Peter says. “If he doesn’t, we’ll find a recipe and we’ll figure it out together. It won’t . . . it won’t be Talia’s, but I’m sure we can make something that’s at least edible.”

“Thanks,” Derek says, shoulders hunching slightly as he picks up his book.

“You’re welcome, nephew.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

It’s about half past nine when Chris knocks on Garrett Meyer’s door. The man has been ducking his calls for over a week now, and Chris is getting sick of it. Technically, the man has no reason to talk to him, and Chris has no authority to demand an interview. That doesn’t mean he’s going to let that stop him.

“Who is it?” Meyers calls through the door.

“It’s Deputy Stilinski, with BHPD,” Chris says, banking on the fact that Meyers won’t know Tom’s voice well enough to tell he’s lying. It works like a charm. He hears the dead bolt turn, and then the door opens. Of course, as soon as Meyers sees him, he tries to shut it again, but by then Chris has the edge of it in one hand, and he forces it open. “It’s time we had a little chat, Mr. Meyers.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Meyers says, although he’s gone pale and looks frightened.

“No problem,” Chris says. “I have plenty to say. You can just listen. See, I know the Hale house fire wasn’t an accident. How do I know that, you might ask? Let’s just say that I talk to people, like I’m talking to you right now. So this report you turned in that says it was an electrical fire, that poses a bit of a problem for me. I’m sure you understand.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Meyers stammers.

“So my initial theory was that you had been bribed to produce that report,” Chris continues, “but given the way you look now, I’m beginning to wonder if there wasn’t some kind of extortion or blackmail going on. You look pretty scared, Mr. Meyers. I wonder why that is.” When Meyers continues to sputter, Chris says, “See, here’s the thing, Garrett – can I call you Garrett? Great – there were a lot of people killed in that fire. Innocent people. _Children_. That doesn’t sit well with me. I need to find out who set that fire, and I think maybe you can help me with that.”

“I don’t know anything!” Meyers protests. His complexion is pale and he’s started sweating. “I don’t – don’t know – ” He groans suddenly, his right hand going up to clutch at his chest.

“Son of a bitch,” Chris says, as Meyers folds to the floor. He grabs him and helps him down. If he’s faking to get out of talking to Chris, he’s doing a damned good job. “Okay, Mr. Meyers, I want you to just try to breathe and stay awake, okay?” He gets his phone out and dials 911. “Hi, I need an ambulance to the following address,” he says, and gives it. “Middle-aged male in medical distress, looks like it might be a heart attack.”

He has a decent amount of paramedic training, so the 911 operator talks him through keeping Meyers comfortable. His eyes have rolled back in his head and his breathing is coming in short, sharp gasps, but he _is_ breathing, so there’s no need for CPR. The EMTs arrive a few minutes later. Chris tells a semi-truth, saying he knows Meyers through work and had stopped by to have a beer, and then he collapsed.

There’s no evidence of any crime, so they don’t ask too many questions and he doesn’t have to give an official statement. They load Meyers into the ambulance. Chris thinks about following, but he knows it might be hours before they hear anything, and he can’t leave Allison alone in the house that long. Frustrated, he heads back home.

His phone buzzes just as he’s pulling into the driveway, and he sees that he has a message from Peter. It definitely should _not_ making his heart jump into his throat like that, he firmly tells himself, and opens it. ‘Any chance you could come over tomorrow? Derek has asked for lasagna.’

‘Sure’, Chris texts back, then adds, ‘It’s not quick, though. Can take as much as two hours to do it right.’

There’s a pause, then Peter replies, ‘I don’t want to be a pain in the ass. It’s just that it’s the first thing Derek has asked for since the fire.’

‘No problem. I’ll come over around 3 if that’s okay?’

‘That sounds good. Thanks.’

Chris heads up to the door and undoes the three locks before letting himself in. He immediately goes upstairs to check on Allison, who’s sound asleep where he had left her. He smiles a little, watching her sleep for a few moments, before heading downstairs to pull up his recipe book and find one for lasagna. He makes a list of what he’ll need at the grocery store. He has some work to do for his legitimate business, so he’ll have to be up early. He takes a quick shower and then heads to bed.

Once it’s a sane hour the next morning, he calls Melissa McCall. It’s easier than calling the hospital. Melissa’s sharper than many people give her credit for, and he thinks she’ll know why he was visiting Meyers. “I was calling to check and see how Garrett Meyers was doing.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Chris,” Melissa says. “He didn’t make it. It was a pretty massive heart attack.”

“Damn,” Chris says, under his breath. “Okay. Thanks for telling me.”

They exchange pleasantries for a few minutes. Melissa asks how the Hales are doing, which means she _definitely_ knows why Chris was visiting Meyers. But she doesn’t say anything about the fire.

Chris gets his work done as quickly as he can, does the grocery shopping, picks Allison up from school, and heads over to the Hale house. It’s a little chaotic. Sophie is running around like a madwoman, howling like a wolf for some reason. Benjamin is chasing after her as fast as his stubby little legs will allow, and he’s got a toy ambulance with – ah, sirens. Sophie isn’t howling, she’s mimicking the sirens.

Peter looks surprisingly calm at this chaos, given how his overall stress level has been, and just shrugs and says, “They’re happy, I’m happy.”

Derek is pacing back and forth in the kitchen, scowling. “We couldn’t make the lasagna earlier?” he snaps, as soon as Peter shows Chris in. (Allison has happily joined the siren/howling children with a report of patient who needs an ambulance, stat! Chris makes a note that she’s been watching too much TV.) “I won’t be able to take it to Laura until tomorrow and it won’t be fresh then.”

“It’ll be just as good tomorrow,” Peter says. “I spoke to Melissa and she says she would let you in to the staff lounge so you could use their microwave to reheat it.”

Derek scowls. “It won’t be the same.”

“No, it won’t, but Chris has a job and a life of his own, and his purpose here on Earth isn’t to make us lasagna,” Peter replies. “In fact, since he’s doing us a favor, maybe you should thank him.”

Derek’s scowl just deepens, and he shoulders past Peter and leaves the kitchen.

Peter sighs, and says to Chris, “Sorry about him. He’s in a _mood_ today, since I went to pick him up from the hospital early so I wouldn’t have to do it later, while we’re cooking. Then he got pissed at the noise level and was mean to Sophie, so I yelled at him, and he’s been in a sulk ever since.”

“It’s okay,” Chris says. “I don’t want to poke my nose in, but have you considered taking him to a therapist?”

“Melissa recommended somebody, and she’s actually gone to talk to him while he’s with Laura, so he won’t have to leave,” Peter says, “but Derek won’t talk to her. He says he’s got every right to be upset and angry since his family died and he doesn’t appreciate us telling him he doesn’t. Arguments about how we’re just trying to help him _deal_ with being upset and angry have bounced off him, for now. She said she’d try again next week.”

Chris nods and starts unloading the supplies he brought. “Well, I have an update about the investigation,” he says, and Peter snaps to attention. “It’s not great news, although you might not think it’s _bad_ news. I went to talk to Meyers, the arson investigator, who’s been ducking my calls, at his place last night. He refused to talk to me, told me he didn’t know what I was talking about, and then capped off the interrogation by having a huge heart attack and dying.”

Peter blinks. “Well. That’s . . . certainly interesting.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Chris says. “It does speak of a guilty conscience. But unfortunately, it also puts me at a dead end, since now I can’t talk to him.”

“Are we sure someone didn’t do something to keep him from talking?”

“I guess anything’s possible, but I doubt it,” Chris says. “It’s not like he bit down on a cyanide capsule. I can’t see how someone would have managed to poison him so he would have dropped dead just as I was trying to question him, because they wouldn’t have had any way of knowing when I would have showed up. I don’t think it’s that unreasonable to assume that a middle-aged guy who was at least a hundred pounds overweight might have a stress heart attack after being accused of helping cover up a murder.”

“Especially by someone like you,” Peter says, looking amused despite himself. “Were you trying to scare him?”

“Yeah,” Chris says, wincing a little.

“Good job,” Peter says, and he’s actually chuckling.

“Thanks, I think.” Chris supposes he can’t really blame Peter for being glad a man involved in the death of his family kicked the bucket. “I’ll see what I can find out about him, but I don’t know if it’ll be much.”

“Okay.” Peter rolls up his sleeves, and dear God, Chris should not be so attracted to that. “Let’s get cooking.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Chris is just about to close the door behind himself when the deputy’s cruiser pulls into his driveway. He stops, frowning, and calls out to Allison, “Hey, get started on your homework, okay?”

“I’ve already done it!” Allison shouts back.

“Then clean your room!” Chris shuts the door as Tom comes up onto the front porch. “Deputy,” he says. “This an official visit?”

“Nope,” Tom says, hooking his thumbs in his belt. “Off the record.”

“Okay. What’s up?”

“Was curious what you were doing at Garrett Meyers’ place the other night.”

Chris gives him the side-eye. “Are you suspicious that a crime has been committed?”

Tom sighs. “Come on, Chris. I just said it was off the record. As far as I can tell, Meyers had a heart attack. There’s no evidence of foul play. I’m just . . . concerned, let’s put it that way. His death, so soon after the arson investigation . . . feels like you were probably there to talk to him about it.” When Chris doesn’t reply, he says, “So let me tell you what I think. I think that investigation was bullshit. I think the Hales were murdered. And I think you think so, too.”

After a moment, Chris nods. “Yes, I do.”

“So you went to see Garrett Meyers.”

“Yes. Why didn’t you?”

Tom glances over his shoulder and says nothing.

Chris works through it. “So you think someone at the station is involved?”

Tom shrugs. “Here’s what I know. It’s pretty unusual – actually downright unheard of – for an arson investigation to conclude in three days. That concerned me, especially given how quickly the fire spread and how high the death toll was. I mentioned that to another deputy, who said he would kick it up the chain. I was then told that the case was closed and I shouldn’t go looking for trouble.”

“Subtle,” Chris says.

Tom gives a snort. “I can’t assign another arson investigator, and I don’t know enough about it myself to look through the report for inconsistencies. Which means that finding proof that Meyers’ report was inaccurate means finding evidence that he was bribed or blackmailed to forge it.”

“I can’t help you there,” Chris says. “He wouldn’t talk to me, and when I pushed the issue, he collapsed.”

“It’s not ideal,” Tom agrees, grimacing. “I was half-hoping there would be evidence that he was poisoned or something, so I could open a murder investigation. But Melissa McCall says everything looked like a typical heart attack. Then again, if someone witnessed Meyers’ final moments and gave a statement saying he had been concerned that someone might target him . . .”

“So you want me to lie in an official statement?” Chris asks.

“Maybe just exaggerate.”

Chris sighs. He doesn’t like it, but opening a murder investigation into Meyers will give Tom the authority to pull his phone and financial records. It’s data they’re going to need, if they’re going to have any hope of finding who bribed him into forging the arson report. So far, it’s the only lead he has. “Okay,” he says, “but in return, you share all your information with me.”

“Deal.” Tom huffs out a breath. “How much does Peter Hale know?”

“Depends on how you look at it,” Chris says, because he can’t bring werewolves into the conversation. “He’s convinced it was murder, but that might just be because it would be so hard to accept that something like this happened accidentally. He knows the investigator declared it an electrical fire, so he knows that Meyers was on the take – but he doesn’t have any evidence or hard proof of anything. Just his own gut feelings.”

“Okay.” After a moment, Tom shakes his head. “I don’t know. If it had happened in the middle of the night, then yeah, I’d believe a fire could spread quickly enough to kill a family. It happens. But during the day? It just stretches my credulity a little too much. I might have let it go, if Meyers hadn’t declared it an accident practically overnight.”

“Yeah.” Chris frowns, thinking back. “You know, Meyers would have known that would raise eyebrows. Maybe he knew someone in the police was going to sweep things under the rug. But maybe he wanted somebody to catch on. In that case, blackmail or extortion might be a lot more likely than a bribe.”

“True,” Tom says. “Okay. Come on down to the station tomorrow. I’m working the day shift, so any time is fine. I’ll take your official statement and we can get this ball rolling. And don’t say anything to Peter for now. He might push for answers, and I don’t want people above me to come down and step on the investigation.”

“Agreed,” Chris says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Peter looks through the folder of information that Chris has gathered on Garrett Meyers and feels – something. He’s not sure what it is. A bit of warmth in his stomach. He’s a little impressed, a tad pleased, a bit – oh. Turned on, that’s what he is. “How did you get this?”

Chris shrugs and says, “I might have lied on an official statement to make it sound like Meyers said he was afraid he was being targeted for his role in the arson investigation before he died.”

“Clever,” Peter says.

“Not my idea, actually. Tom Stilinski has had some of the same suspicions we did.”

Peter glances up. “Without even knowing about werewolves or the mountain ash circle? Now that _is_ impressive.”

Chris nods. “I think the fact that Meyers turned in his investigation so quickly got his attention. He’s a good cop. We’ve been wondering if Meyers did that specifically to draw attention – if maybe he was being blackmailed or threatened, but secretly wanted someone to realize the fire had been arson. Which means that while Tom looks through the financials for a bribe, we’re going to go through Meyers’ history to see if we can find what they might have been holding over his head. I thought you might be able to help, given your profession.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Peter takes out his phone and starts tapping away at it. “I wouldn’t have even needed the legal investigation, to be honest, but I try not to break the law if I don’t have to. Let me e-mail a few of my contacts.”

“Okay.” Chris waits, leafing through the folder. Meyers has led a fairly inconsequential life to date, but there must be something.

A moment later, Peter is on the phone. “Hello, Jules. Do you know anyone who can vet some arson investigations for me . . .? Mm hm. Yes. . . . excellent. I’ll forward them to you once I get them. Twenty percent bonus if you can put a rush on them for me.”

He hangs up, and Chris says, “Reports, plural?”

“I’ve been thinking about this,” Peter says. “Why Meyers was chosen and what they were blackmailing him with might be related. What if he’s done this before? He’s been doing this for twenty years. My bet is that it was for a robbery where someone used arson to cover their tracks. They gave him a cut to help hide their involvement.”

Chris is nodding. “So somebody found out about that and threatened to expose him if he didn’t agree to do the same here.”

“Right. But covering up evidence of a robbery and evidence of a murder – a multiple homicide with _children_ involved – ” Peter’s voice cracks, but then he steadies himself. “Those are two very different things. His conscience got to him, thus him turning the report in early.”

“How are we going to get his other reports?”

Peter shrugs. “I have connections you don’t need to know about. I just . . . damn, I wish I could go out to the house. Logically, rationally, I know there’s probably nothing there. It’s not like our arsonist dropped their wallet at the scene. But it’s just . . . I haven’t been there since the day of the fire. There’s a part of me that feels like I need to see it.”

“I could watch the kids, if you wanted,” Chris says.

“Which I appreciate, but I’d rather you go with me. I don’t . . .” Peter has to close his eyes for a long minute before the lump in his throat subsides. “I don’t really want to go by myself. I don’t know that I could handle it.”

Chris nods, then reaches out and squeezes his hand. Peter manages a wan smile. “You know that’s nothing to be ashamed of, right?” Chris says, and Peter just shrugs. “Well, look. Tom’s in on this now. I think he’d understand, and I’m sure he could watch the rugrats for a couple hours. Stiles and Allison already know each other from school. We could even leave them at the station, if you felt like they might be safer there.”

“That’s not a bad idea, but . . .” Peter frowns. “It brings something to mind. If Tom suspects the arson report isn’t legit, why did you have to give a false statement about Meyers’ death? Why couldn’t he just open an investigation into him because of the forgery?”

“He tried, but people above him shut him down.”

“Which means that someone at the station is involved.” Peter’s eyes flare momentarily red, and then he takes another deep breath. “I think we’ll leave them at Tom’s house, as long as he’s willing. But in the meantime, we can get started on what we have on Meyers. If you don’t mind talking to Tom for me – I don’t really know him well enough to ask for baby-sitting favors.”

“Okay. No problem.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Peter is feel apprehensive for a number of reasons as he walks into the forest. He tells himself it’s not a big deal. Derek is at the hospital, and if he’s been safe there for weeks, surely he’s safe there today. An actual police officer with an actual firearm is watching the other two children. They’ll be fine. He can leave them alone for an hour, long enough to go into the forest and look at the remains of his home.

Although, he thinks, maybe that’s the problem. Maybe not-so-deep-down, he doesn’t really want to do this. Doesn’t want to look at the burned-out, gutted remains of where he had lived his entire life. At the ashes of his family – because he knows that there ashes are still in there, mixed in the remnants. They might have been cremated, but there’s plenty of them left in the house.

He takes a deep, steadying breath as they make their final approach. Chris has been silent, for which Peter is grateful. It’s one of the things he likes about Chris. So many people feel the need to fill silence with meaningless noise. Chris isn’t like that. He lets Peter have the quiet, when he needs it.

The scent reaches them before the sight does. The scent of ash and death. Peter covers his mouth with a cloth he had brought, and sees Chris give him a questioning look. “The smell is just – still strong,” he murmurs, into the fabric. Chris doesn’t reply in words, but he reaches out and gives Peter’s shoulder a squeeze.

There’s not much left of the house. The cement foundation, a few of the supporting beams. Peter knows that they hadn’t tried to save the house, so it doesn’t surprise him. He steps up onto the foundation, hears glass crunch underneath his foot. He doesn’t know if he can actually smell the burning flesh, but he feels like he can. He leans over and retches into the ruins.

“Steady,” Chris says, putting a hand on the small of his back.

Peter finishes throwing up, then straightens and wipes a hand over the back of his mouth. He gives Chris a quick nod to indicate that he’s okay, or at least as okay as he’s going to get. He walks the perimeter of the house, looking for – what? He doesn’t know. There’s nothing left intact. He doesn’t know how arson investigation works, but he has no idea how anyone could get any evidence from this.

Without a word, he turns and walks away from the house, although not back towards the car. Chris hastens to follow him. “You okay?”

“I don’t – ” Peter chokes out, and stops and takes a deep breath. “I don’t know why I wanted to come here. I don’t know what I thought I was going to find or how it would help.”

“I don’t know,” Chris says. “Maybe you just needed it to feel real.”

“Oh, it feels pretty God damned real,” Peter bites the words out with a sob. “That’s my family in there. My sister, my w-wife – ” He breaks the words off before he can completely lose control. “When I find who did this, I will kill them. Do you understand that, Chris? I don’t want them in jail, I don’t want your human idea of justice, I want _blood_. I won’t rest until they’ve suffered the way I’m suffering. I don’t care if you want to help me or not, now that you know that. But you had better not get in my way.”

Chris just nods, and says quietly, “Okay, Peter.”

Peter lets out another sob and turns away, but then he feels Chris’ hand on his arm. He turns to him blindly, resting his face against Chris’ shoulder and crying into his jacket. Chris just holds him and says nothing.

Gradually, Peter calms down. He pulls away and wipes his eyes. His head aches and his throat hurts. He blows his nose on the fabric and then tosses it to the ground.

Immediately, a scent teases at him, something he hadn’t noticed while he had been using the fabric to muffle the scent of the house. He takes a cautious sniff. “Oh my God.”

“What?” Chris’ hand drops automatically to the butt of his gun. “What is it?”

“It . . . it’s Cora.” Peter turns in a slow circle. “I can smell Cora’s scent.”

Chris frowns. “How long would it – ”

“Not this long. This is, is fresh. Within the last day or two.” Peter starts jogging, following the scent.

“Are you sure?” Chris asks, keeping up easily.

“Of course I’m sure,” Peter snarls at him. “Cora might have – if she had been playing outside, if she hadn’t been in the house when the fire started – it was that time of day, after she would have been done with her homework but before dinner, and she liked to play outside.” He stops running abruptly as he comes through a copse of trees and something catches his eye. It’s a stuffed animal, a mangled old rabbit that had once belonged to Laura but eventually gotten passed down to her younger sisters.

Peter tilts his head back, shifting, and lets out a howl. It echoes in the trees around them, and he strains his ears for any response. But there’s nothing. He swears softly, underneath his breath, and then starts tracking her scent again.

“Why wouldn’t she reply back?” Chris asks. “Could she be too far away to hear?”

“No, werewolves can hear a pack member’s howl for almost a hundred square miles,” Peter says. “But if she’s scared, if she’s hiding . . .” He stops as they come up to a stream. “Damn it!”

“Hey, take a breath,” Chris says. “Finding werewolves is kind of what I do.”

Peter turns to him with crimson eyes and says, “That doesn’t inspire the sort of confidence in me that you’re hoping it does.”

“Peter,” Chris says firmly, holding his hands up in surrender, “I would never hurt her. _Never_. She’s a child, an innocent. We’re going to find her and get her to safety. Just let me help you.”

After a moment, Peter manages to squelch the protective instinct, the knowledge that this _hunter_ is looking for a member of his pack. He nods. “What do we do?”

“I need to get some equipment,” Chris says, then adds, “and you’re going to need earplugs.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish Peter's nurse hadn't been named Jennifer, because now whenever I want her to show up, it feels like I'm writing Jennifer Blake. Welp, I'm not! Just so you know. ^_^

 

Chris calls Tom to let him know they might be a little longer than expected. Tom, naturally, would like to know why. Chris tells him the truth – that they found a stuffed animal of Cora’s in the forest and Peter is worried she might be alive and lost in the forest. Tom seems dubious. “The odds of that . . . aren’t good,” he finally says. “How certain is he?”

“He says that Cora almost always kept this particular toy with her,” Chris says. It’s an odd habit for an eleven-year-old, but he can’t explain werewolf scents. “And that at that time of day, it wouldn’t have been unusual for her to be playing outside.”

“But why wouldn’t she have come to the house for help?” Tom asks. “Once the fire trucks arrived and everything?”

“I don’t know. But if she saw someone set the fire . . .”

Tom swears. “Okay. I’ll call in Search and Rescue. Get some dogs out there. Where exactly did you find the doll?”

Chris gives Tom a location that’s as far away from where they lost Cora’s scent as possible without leaving the preserve. He knows that there won’t be a way to talk Tom out of helping, but he doesn’t want him too close. By then, they’ve gotten back to the Argent house. He collects what he needs and drives back out to the forest. He’d left Peter there, hunting for Cora’s scent, mostly because he had refused to leave. “Here,” Chris says, slapping the earplugs into his hand. “So we use the sonic posts to drive her out of wherever she’s hiding. I’ve got a map of the area . . .”

It takes about an hour to put the sonic posts where he needs them to be. Peter is jogging back and forth in the area they’re attempting to drive Cora into, clearly about to crack. “What if she doesn’t come out? If she’s frightened, if she’s hiding . . .”

Since he can’t talk to him, Chris texts him. “Take out your ear plugs for a second.”

Peter frowns at him, but then does as instructed. He immediately lets out a grunt of pain, flinching away from the noise, and jams it back in.

“That’s what it sounds like from back here,” Chris texts him. “And she’s a lot closer. She won’t keep hiding. She’ll need to get away from the noise.”

After a moment, Peter just nods. “But what if she gets past us?”

“Then we’ll scent track her.”

Peter continues to pace. A light rain starts to fall, and he’s worried that it might wash away her scent. It will certainly keep him from scenting her until she’s right under his literal nose. He’s down two out of five senses, another two of which aren’t useful in this situation. His eyes are all he has.

But Chris still has his ears, and he’s the one who hears Cora’s approach. He holds up a hand in a fist, then points in the direction of the river. Peter tenses, and Chris turns his flashlight off. Almost immediately, a dark blur zips out of the forest, away from the noise of the sonic posts. Peter tackles her, and they roll several feet as she snarls and snaps at him. “Cora, it’s me!” Peter says, letting the crimson show in his eyes. “It’s me, it’s Peter, you’re safe now.” The ball of fur and fangs goes limp. “I’ve got you, you’re safe now.”

Still speaking softly, soothingly, Peter reaches up and takes his ear plugs out. There’s no more noise from the sonic posts; Chris has turned them off. All he hears is Cora’s heart-breaking whimpers. He smoothes her fur and murmurs to her until she manages to change back to her human form. “There you are, I’ve got you,” he says, hugging her tightly to his shoulder. He vaguely notes that Chris is on his phone, presumably calling the authorities. Cora doesn’t really need a hospital – she needs a warm bed and a hot steak – but Peter knows that she can’t just reappear without people asking a lot of questions.

“This way,” Chris says, studying his phone. Peter scoops Cora up in his arms. She closes her eyes and leans her head against his chest. A few minutes later, they’re on the access road, and a few minutes after that, an ambulance comes trundling up. Peter tries to lay Cora down on the stretcher, but she starts crying, so he sits down instead, continuing to hold her. The paramedics are checking her over. “I’ll meet you at the hospital, okay?” Chris says, and Peter barely hears.

On the way to the hospital, it occurs to him to call Derek. He takes out his phone and sees that he has several texts from Tom. ‘Got the good news. Will bring the kids to the hospital,’ reads the first, and then the second is, ‘Shit, no, I can’t. I don’t have a car seat for the baby.’ Another minute later, he’s added, ‘Okay, I’ve found us a ride. You will probably beat me there but I’ll see you soon.’

Peter files all that away and calls Derek. He picks up sounding surly, with, “Where are you? It’s nearly seven.”

“Derek,” Peter says, trying to loosen the knot in his throat. “I have some news.”

“What is it?” Derek’s sulk turns to alarm. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I found – ” He has to stop and clear his throat. “Cora. She was in the woods. She – must not have been in the house.”

“Cora?” Derek’s voice is barely a whisper. “Cora – Cora’s alive? She’s okay?”

“She seems – a little worse for the wear, but yes, she’s alive. We’re in an ambulance on our way to the hospital. Go down to the emergency room and I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay,” Derek chokes out, and hangs up.

Peter tucks his phone away and goes back to smoothing Cora’s hair. The EMTs have gotten an IV in her to get fluids started. Peter vaguely wonders how he’s going to explain the fact that she’s relatively healthy after weeks upon weeks in the forest, but realizes he doesn’t really care.

When they reach the hospital, he hops out of the ambulance and lets the paramedics do their thing. They wheel her inside, where a nurse meets them. A lot of people are chattering. They get showed into a curtained area where the nurse starts taking Cora’s vital signs. She’s clearly not in immediate danger, so it quiets down quickly.

Derek bursts in a few moments later. He’s without adult supervision and has probably been following his nose. “Cora!”

Cora’s gaze jerks over to him. “Derek,” she whispers, and her eyes fill with tears.

Derek practically shoves past the nurse and curls up around his sister as if he can shelter her from the world. “Cora, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he sobs, clinging to her. Cora closes her eyes and nestles into his embrace.

The nurse draws Peter aside. “Overall, she’s in remarkably good shape,” she says. “Some dehydration and hypothermia, probably, but her vital signs are stable and her temperature’s normal, so there’s no signs of any infection. I don’t know what she’s been eating out there, but it’s been enough to keep her in good health.”

Peter manages a wan smile. “She was a Girl Scout,” he lies. “So maybe she knew what sort of plants she could eat.”

It occurs to him a moment later that a Girl Scout probably would have been able to navigate her way out of the woods, but what the hell. She’s only eleven. The nurse says she’ll have the doctor come in as soon as he gets a minute, but since Cora’s in no immediate danger, it might be a little while. She’s going to get Cora something to drink in the meantime, and will bring Peter some coffee.

When she comes back with it, Peter can’t drink it. He watches Cora take little sips of the juice while Derek holds the cup to her mouth, tears still trickling down his cheeks. Grief and rage war in his stomach at seeing his niece like this, frightened and in pain. He stays silent when Tom shows up with the other kids, lifting Sophie up so she can sit on the bed with her cousin, holding Benjamin in his arms.

“Cora, honey, can I talk to you for a minute?” Tom asks, crouching down so he’s at eye level with her. She peeks out from where her face is still mostly hidden in Derek’s shirt. “I just have a couple of questions. Okay?” This doesn’t get much of a response. “Did you see the fire, honey?”

Cora ducks her head, turning her face into Derek’s chest. Derek pats her on the back and growls at Tom.

“Okay, no problem,” Tom says. “Don’t worry, Cora, we don’t have to talk about it.” He straightens up and faces Peter. “They’ll take good care of her here. When you’ve gotten her home and she’s feeling a little better, give me a call.”

Peter nods and doesn’t say anything about the fact that Cora won’t be talking to the police until he knows what she did or didn’t see. “Thanks for watching the little ones.”

“No problem. Call me if you need anything,” Tom says, and with that, he departs.

Peter leans back over Cora, smoothing her hair down. “It’s okay, Cora, you’re not alone anymore,” he murmurs, and the rage nearly chokes him again. He should have found her days ago, _weeks_ ago. He should have known she was alive. He had been so wrapped up in his own pain that he hadn’t sorted out the alpha bond well enough to know. That was on him. The weeks she had spent in the forest were his fault.

Chris comes in about twenty minutes later, still damp from the rain, since he had had to walk back to his car. “Hey, how’s she doing?”

Peter’s hands curl into fists, his claws digging into the skin of his palms. “Get out.”

Taken aback, Chris just blinks at him. “What?”

“I should have – should have found her. I should have been out there looking for her, not playing house with a God damned _hunter_.” His voice chokes. “I don’t want anything to do with you. Just leave us the fuck alone.”

Chris opens his mouth, but then takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay,” he says, and walks away.

Cora is peeking out again, and Sophie is scowling. “That was mean, Daddy.”

Peter has to strangle back another sob. “Daddies are allowed to be mean sometimes.”

Sophie looks highly skeptical in the way only a five-year-old can, but Peter is saved as the doctor comes in. He looks Cora over, then tells Peter that they’ve going to keep her overnight to be on the safe side but it looks like she’s in incredibly good health, considering her ordeal. Peter thanks him, and settles in for a long night.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Cora’s moved to a room around nine PM, and she barely wakes up as they transfer her into the bed. There won’t be any beds for Peter or the kids – he’s not leaving Cora alone, and he doubts he could pry Derek from her side with a crowbar. He lays Sophie down at the foot of Cora’s bed, and she immediately falls asleep. Benjamin has been asleep for over an hour.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Derek says quietly, from where he’s curled up in the corner of the room. “Not finding her earlier.”

“It was,” Peter says. “I should have known she was out there. Should have been able to feel it.”

“I don’t know.” Derek shrugs. “How were you going to feel her pain through the bond when Laura and I were in so much pain ourselves, and, and so much closer?”

Peter says nothing.

“You shouldn’t have yelled at Chris,” Derek says.

Peter’s eyes sting. “I know.”

Derek’s quiet for a minute. “I didn’t know he was a hunter.”

“He is. An Argent.” Peter sees Derek’s back stiffen. “But your mother knew him, she said he was a decent person, that he follows the Code.”

Derek shakes his head a little, curling up tighter.

“I was skeptical myself, to be honest,” Peter says, “but I’ve spent enough time with him now to know she was right. Chris has been helping me investigate the fire. He was truly, personally offended that someone would violate what he believes in like that. So I did a little research. He’s been estranged from the rest of his family for years now. It’s strange, but I think we can trust him.” He lets out a breath. “But if you need me to make sure he doesn’t come around anymore, I can.”

“No, I . . . he helped you a lot.” Derek’s still hunched up in his corner, but he seems to be relaxing by degrees. “If you say he’s not a danger to us, I believe you.”

“Okay. Although I suppose it doesn’t matter, after what I said to him.”

“Maybe you should do something revolutionary like apologize,” Derek suggests.

“I suck at apologies,” Peter mumbles. “Plus he’ll just do something like nod and say ‘you’re grieving, I get it’ and then I’ll want to punch him right in his empathetic face.”

Derek gives him a look. It’s more disappointed than anything else.

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter says, annoyed. He takes out his phone, because apologies are probably easier over the phone, and dials Chris.

He picks up on the second ring, and says, “Everything okay?”

“Ugh, why are you so, so understanding and shit?” Peter snaps. “You make me feel like a total dick every time you open your mouth.”

“Uh huh,” Chris says.

“That was me apologizing, by the way.”

Chris starts laughing. “Oh, was it now?”

“Yes. Because I suck at apologies.” Peter sighs. “But I was out of line earlier. I was hurt and guilty and I took it out on you, and that was incredibly unfair after you’ve been bending over backwards to help me. Now please, for the love of God, don’t say anything nice. Call me a jerk. Let me have it. Please.”

At this, Chris gives a snort. “Okay. You’re an asshole, and you only deserve, like, ninety percent of what I’m doing for you.”

“Fifty.”

“Eighty.”

“Seventy-five.”

“You’re right, seventy-five. Then fifteen for the kids, and ten percent you don’t deserve at all.”

Now Peter laughs. “Okay. That seems pretty accurate.”

More quietly, Chris says, “How is she?”

“Physically, she’s okay. She’s . . . frightened, and hurt on the inside, and . . . hopefully she just needs some time to adjust. I’m going to take her home tomorrow. I want to try to get Laura home, too,” he adds, and sees Derek look up. “She’s going to need to start on her rehab soon, and if she needs long-term care I’d rather she be at home. I’ve got enough money to hire a nurse. So I might be busy for a few days.”

“Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Now you’re just rubbing it in.”

Chris laughs. “Maybe a little.”

They say good night, and Peter hangs up the phone. He sits in silence for a minute, letting himself feel the exhaustion before shrugging it off. “You know, if we’re going to talk about misplaced guilt, I need to point out that this isn’t your fault, either,” he says, and Derek just shrugs. “I mean it. You were apologizing to Cora, and . . . and I don’t know why, Derek. None of this is your fault.”

Derek wipes his eyes, looks away, and says nothing.

“I know that . . .” Peter has to stop and steady his voice. “You might feel like you should have been there. I feel like that sometimes, when I wake up and I just . . . miss them so much. But it wouldn’t have made a difference, Derek. We just would have died with them . . . and maybe I would have thought that was better, before today. But now I know that it means nobody would have been left to find Cora, to help her. So just try to remember that, okay?”

“It wasn’t . . .” Derek’s voice trails off and he shakes his head.

“What?” Peter asks, and when Derek stays silent, he says, “Please, nephew. I know that something’s wrong, that . . . there’s something that’s hurting you that I don’t understand. I want to help you. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t,” Derek whispers.

Peter has to stop and take a deep breath to avoid losing his temper. He’s getting better at it. “Okay. But if you won’t talk to me, will you please talk to somebody? I know that you think the counselor can’t help you. Maybe you’re right. Maybe nothing she says will help. But will you at least give her a chance?”

After a moment, Derek nods. Then he promptly changes the subject. “Do you mean it, about bringing Laura home?”

“Yes,” Peter says, allowing the subject change. “She still needs a lot of care, but more than that, she needs the pack. She’ll heal faster if we’re able to spend more time with her. I can’t shepherd the kids back and forth, so it will be easier for me to focus on helping her if we can get her back home. Tomorrow morning, I’ll email some people I know to get their recommendations for a home health nurse. We’ll get Laura back on her feet, Derek. It will take time, but she will get better.”

“Okay.” Derek manages a wan smile. “Thanks.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Derek. I’m the alpha. This is what I’m here for.”

Derek nods again. He curls up in his chair and closes his eyes. After a while, Peter dozes off, too.

Come morning, Cora’s awake and alert, and although she still isn’t talking much, when the doctor asks how she feels, she mumbles, “Okay.” She’s cleared to be discharged, and Peter realizes he has no way to get them home.

After a few minutes to consider, while his tired brain tries to muddle through the options, he throws in the towel and calls Chris. “I’m certainly glad I apologized last night, because to call you for a favor when I hadn’t would have been really embarrassing.”

Chris laughs. “What’s up?”

“I just realized I’m here at the hospital with four kids, one of whom is a baby, with no car. Mine is still sitting on the preserve where I left it last night.”

“Ah,” Chris says. “Okay. It might be an hour or so before I can make it all the way out there.”

“Take your time. We’ll have breakfast here and then visit Laura. I need to talk to her doctors anyway.” Peter rounds up the kids and heads down to the cafeteria. His brain says to make Cora take it slow, but the way her eyes go wide and her heartbeat speeds up when she smells the food make that impossible. She loads up a plate with bacon and eggs and tater tots, and he doesn’t have the heart to stop her as she starts eating.

“Daddy, can I have chocolate milk?” Sophie asks, tugging at Peter’s shirt as he views their breakfast options.

“Tell you what, sweetheart, you can have chocolate milk if you eat toast and eggs,” Peter says, “Or you can have pancakes and syrup, if you drink regular milk.”

Sophie considers this. “Chocolate milk!”

“Chocolate milk it is.” Peter puts some bread in the toaster for her and grabs the little packets of butter and jam. Derek is getting some cereal for the baby and some donuts for himself. Peter thinks about telling him to eat something healthy, then decides against leaving it as an option. He grabs a banana and a yogurt for his nephew.

Once they’re finally all sitting down, he realizes he forgot to get food for himself in the madness of making sure all the children were fed. Derek is giving his yogurt a dirty look, but grudgingly agrees he can watch the kids for a minute while Peter grabs himself something. Mostly he just wants coffee, but to set a good example, gets some cereal and an apple.

Cora is clearly putting the world back in order, and as they head up to Laura’s room, she speaks voluntarily for the first time. It’s just a whisper, directed at Derek. “Where are Mom and Dad?”

Derek nearly trips over his own feet, and his gaze darts between Peter and Cora as he clearly tries to figure out how to answer this. Peter stops walking and crouches slightly so he’s on eye level with Cora. Gently, he asks, “Did you see the fire, Cora?”

Cora looks anxiously at Derek, and he squeezes her hand. She nods.

“Everyone else was still inside,” Peter says. “Laura was inside, and she was hurt, and we’re going to go see her now. But everyone else – your mom and dad, Jocelyn, your Aunt Olivia – ” God, it still hurts to say her name – “They didn’t make it out. They died.”

After a moment, Cora’s gaze drops to the floor, and she just whispers, “Oh.”

“I’m so sorry, Cora,” Peter says, pulling her into an embrace. She stands there, stiff as a board, letting him hug her. “It’s just us now, but I’m going to take care of you. Okay?”

She nods. He lets her go, and they start walking again. He still has questions for her – why did she run? Did she see something? – but they can wait. Once they’re in Laura’s room, Derek sits in his usual chair by the bed and pulls Cora into his lap. Peter takes Benjamin with him to talk to the doctor, but leaves Sophie with them.

The doctor seems skeptical at first, but once Peter assures him that he would hire a nurse to help with Laura’s care, he gets on board. He talks briefly about the sort of rehab she’s going to need, and how they’d have to find a physical therapist who could work with her at the house as well. “The problem is . . . I’m sorry, there’s no delicate way to put this. I’m still concerned about her mental state.”

“You’re not alone there,” Peter says. “But I’m hoping getting her home will help. Having me and the kids around, being able to spend more time with her. It’s not good for her to be here – and it’s not good for Derek, either. He’s isolating himself, and I’m trying to get him to stop without having to force him.”

“You might be right,” the doctor says. “We haven’t been able to find any neurological cause for it, so it’s probably just trauma. Let me talk to the social worker – she can make some recommendations for a home health nurse. Once that’s been set up, we can go over the instructions . . .”

Peter nods and thanks him. He sits with Laura for a while. It’s another forty-five minutes before Chris arrives, in Peter’s car, and Peter only then realizesthat they won’t all fit. Derek wants to come with them rather than spending the day with Laura, because Cora obviously needs him more. Peter could fit his family, if they squeeze, but there’s no room for Chris, who Peter had planned to drive back out to his own car.

Fortunately, for him, Chris says, “Oh, I didn’t leave my car out there. I just walked, it was only a couple of miles.”

“Oh, good.” Peter rubs both hands over his face. “I don’t think I’m firing on all cylinders today.”

“Yeah, you also missed the fact that I don’t have keys to your car,” Chris says. “Fortunately, I know how to hotwire a car.”

“Cool,” Derek says, impressed despite himself.

“I’m going to go home and sleep for a few hours,” Peter says.

“Good idea,” Chris says, slightly amused.

He can’t, of course. He has the kids. But Derek isn’t in the mood to argue with anything he says, so when he proposes a Disney marathon, Derek agrees. They curl up in a pile on the sofa, with Peter pulling Cora into his lap so he can shelter her from the world. “Will you stay awake if I fall asleep?” he asks Derek.

“Only if we watch Tangled first,” Derek says. “When Frozen comes on, I’m outta here.”

Peter snorts. “It’s a deal.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

It’s a long few days, probably longer than any of the ones since the days immediately after the fire. Peter is busy interviewing home health nurses and talking to the social worker about Cora. Apparently having someone declared _not_ dead is a lot more complicated than the opposite. Fortunately, he still has his own contacts and string-pullers who can work on it for him.

In addition to that, Cora had friends at school who want to see her, and he has to put off a lot of well-meaning parents who are eager to come visit. He explains that Cora is somewhat fragile after her extended period in the forest, and that she needs to rest and heal right now. He takes down phone numbers and promises numerous people that he’ll call them as soon as Cora is ready.

It’s not until evening on the second day that he judges that Cora is well enough to talk about what happened. He leaves Derek watching the kids and sits down with her, asking gentle questions about where she was when the fire started and what she saw. “I ran home when I smelled the smoke,” Cora says, drawing her knees up to her chest. “But I couldn’t get into the house. Mom – ” She chokes a little on the word. “She saw me trying to get in. She shouted for me to run, so I did.”

“Why didn’t you come back to the house?” Peter asks.

“I didn’t know when it would be safe. I didn’t . . . didn’t know you and Derek weren’t inside. I thought . . .”

Peter nods, understanding. Cora, presuming her entire family was gone, had decided to try to make her own way. It wasn’t even an unintelligent decision, all things considered.

It takes six interviews to find a home health nurse that he actually likes instead of tolerating. Her name is Jennifer, and she has a way of explaining medical things in layman’s terms without being patronizing. She also voluntarily interacts with Sophie and Benjamin, engaging with them even though it wouldn’t be part of her job description. The next day, there’s a long meeting at the hospital. Multiple doctors are going over Laura’s prognosis and her daily treatment regimen. Jennifer understands it better than he does, but he takes notes and asks some intelligent questions.

There’s an empty room on the first floor that he had originally intended to use as an office, and they get it set up as Laura’s bedroom. That way they won’t have to worry about taking her up and down the stairs. He wants her to be as accessible as possible, so he can easily spend time with her while still tending to the younger children.

After what seems like an eternity, everything is taken care of. They wheel Laura out to his car and they load her into it. Derek is home with the other kids – he doesn’t like being left in charge of them, but getting Laura home takes precedence for him. They drive home and get her back into bed. Jennifer says she’ll be back at eight the next morning. Peter sits down with Laura and holds her hand, draining away her pain, while Benjamin is in his bouncer and Sophie and Cora are playing with Sophie’s Hatchimals on the floor. Derek sits in the corner and doesn’t say much, but at least he looks marginally less miserable than usual.

“I should start thinking about what we’re going to eat tomorrow,” Peter says. They’ve been having a lot of pizza and sandwiches since Cora’s arrival. “How about it, Cora? What would you like?”

Cora looks up at him, a little uncertain, but then seems to remember that this is her uncle, her alpha, and she’s safe now. “Can we make tacos?”

“I think tacos should be easy enough,” Peter says, and Cora smiles hesitantly. Peter takes out his phone and texts Chris. “Free tomorrow? It’s Taco Tuesday.”

“Tomorrow is Friday,” Chris replies.

“Like I have any idea what day it is,” Peter says.

Clearly amused, Chris texts back, “Sure, tacos sound good. I can be over around five but I won’t have time to go to the grocery store. If I text you a list, can you get the supplies?”

“I think I can manage that much.”

They play some board games and watch a movie, leaving Laura’s door open so she can hear the television and know that they’re still there. Then he orders more take-out. They eat dinner and he puts the kids to bed. Cora is sleeping in Derek’s room for now. It would make more sense for her to share with Sophie, but she won’t leave Derek’s side and he seems disinclined to make her.

It’s just past ten, and even Derek has gone to bed, when his phone buzzes to indicate that he has an email. He sees it’s from one of his contacts, and goes to open it on his laptop. After some thought, he decides to sit with Laura while he does so. He sees that she’s still awake, staring off into space, and figures she might like the company.

An arson investigator from Chicago, a friend-of-a-friend of one of his contacts, has painstakingly gone through all of Garret Meyers’ old cases. He’s found inconsistencies in three of them. One of them is five years old, the other two are from the year before that. The fires were at a jewelry store, an electronics store, and a gym. The first two obviously could have been to cover up robberies. The third, he wasn’t so sure about. But a little digging revealed that the gym was frequented by a lot of MMA and UFC fighters, and had regular exhibitions and tournaments. Peter wonders if someone there was running a betting ring out of the back.

“So the question,” he says to his niece, “is if Meyers was being blackmailed by somebody who found out he had doctored these reports, how did they know about it?”

There has to be a connection between the three cases.

His mind wanders, watching Laura, looking at the burn scars that crawl up one side of her face. Most of the burns are healed now, although some of the worse ones are still covered with loose bandages that Jennifer will have to change. He thinks of how bright and curious Laura had always been, how if he had sat with her and done something like this a year ago, she would have been full of questions and possible answers.

He reaches out and takes her hand, feels the inferno raging beneath the surface of her skin, drawing it out a little at a time. “I will find who did this to you,” he says, squeezing her hand. “I promise, Laura. I’ll make them pay.”

Laura’s hand trembles in his, but she doesn’t reply.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Peter met Olivia was inspired by a tumblr post that I sadly cannot find again...

 

Peter is a little worried about how Cora is going to react to Chris and Allison, and although she is a little wary, she doesn’t actively flinch. Allison was a year ahead of her at school, so they know each other passingly. But really, Cora is much more interested in the tacos than in the company. She stays in the kitchen while Peter cooks and the other kids are playing in Laura’s room.

Derek does the dishes, as usual, and Peter asks Chris if he doesn’t mind staying while he puts the two younger kids to bed, so they can talk business. Chris says sure, and settles with Cora and Allison on the sofa and puts on a movie for them. Since it’s a Friday, there’s no rush to get home for Allison to do her homework and go to bed.

“Coffee, beer, or wine?” Peter asks, as he heads into the kitchen once the kids are in bed.

“Far too late for coffee, and I’ve never been a wine drinker,” Chris says, “so beer it is.”

“A man after my own heart.” Peter takes out two bottles and settles at the kitchen table. Derek has gone in to sit with Laura, and the two girls are engrossed in Monsters, Inc. Peter goes over the arson cases he had gotten, and Chris agrees with his conclusions.

“I’ll see if Tom can pull the files for us,” Chris says. “It might be a long shot. Since Meyers said these were accidents, I don’t know if there was ever a lot of investigation done.”

“I think the gym will be the key,” Peter says. “The jewelry and the electronics, anybody could have known to target stores like that. But if the gym had an underground betting ring going on, not a lot of people knew about it, and whoever was running it might be willing to take to us where he wouldn’t talk to the police.”

Chris nods. “Good point. I’ll look into it.”

Peter plays with the cap to his beer bottle. “Why are you doing this?”

Chris sighs. “I told you, Peter. The Code is important to me. I – ”

“Not that,” Peter says. “That, I get. I meant more like, why are you teaching me how to cook, why are you walking two miles into the forest to get my car, why are you – ” He waves a hand in the air. “Why are you _helping_ me?”

“Because I know how it is to lose your wife, to suddenly have kids depending on you and feel like you’re in over your head. That’s all. Does it need to be more complicated than that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Peter shakes his head. “You’re nothing like I would have expected. I’ve heard a lot of stories about your family, especially your father. I guess I thought you would be more like him.”

“I was, for a long time. But Victoria’s death . . .” Chris looks away and takes a long pull at his beer. “It changed things for me. I wanted to believe she had done the right thing. And to be honest, maybe I would have eventually, if my dad and sister hadn’t kept hammering at me that I shouldn’t be upset, that I should be proud I had a wife who had died with honor . . . pissed me right the fuck off, to be honest.”

“I can see that,” Peter says.

“The more they told me I shouldn’t be angry, the angrier I got. Because I just couldn’t make it work out in my head, that my wife was better off dead than a werewolf, that my daughter was better off without a mother. I had to get away from it, from them. That’s when I moved out here.” Chris shrugs a little. “I sort of wonder how much your sister knew about it. Because I showed up to tell her I was, you know, conducting a threat assessment, and she asked me if I’d ever met a born wolf family before. I told her the truth, that I hadn’t. Talia was the one who told me about anchors, about how pack helps everyone stay in control. The sort of stuff hunters should know, but don’t.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” Peter says dryly.

“Anyway.” Chris shakes his head. “I haven’t talked much to my father since then. I like to think I’m not much like him.”

“Trust me, you aren’t.” Peter leans back in his chair and finishes off his beer. “How did you meet Victoria? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“I don’t, but it’s boring. Her father and my father were hunting buddies. It was almost an arranged marriage, in a way – hunters like their secrets, and they don’t like outsiders. We hit it off naturally, though – didn’t need to be talked into it. What about you?” Chris gets them both a second beer. “How did you meet Olivia?”

Peter huffs out a laugh. “I’m sitting in this coffee shop, right? I was minding my own business, doing some work. Olivia was on a date a few tables down from me, and it was going _very_ poorly. This guy was a real piece of work. Couldn’t stop talking about himself, couldn’t let two sentences go by without sliding an innuendo into the conversation. Pretty clearly figured he was entitled to getting laid after buying her a mochaccino. She was getting more and more pissed, and I was eavesdropping because it was getting interesting. Finally, he crossed a line, I don’t remember what disgusting comment he made, and she stood up to go. He stood up too, and asked where she thought she was going, said he’d picked her up and – get this – that he knew where she lived.”

“Jesus Christ,” Chris says.

“I know, right? So I looked over, and I’m all ready to be a knight in shining armor because seriously, fuck this guy, when she throws her coffee in his face, grabs him by the wrist, and slams him face first into the table.”

Chris is laughing. “Holy shit.”

“She then proceeded to tell him that if he ever talked to her that way again, she would make sure he never had reason to seek a woman’s company again. He was pissed. Came at her, and she used some sort of judo throw on him. Police were called, it was very exciting. When the guy was protesting that she attacked him for no reason, I went over to tell them that I had witnessed him threatening her and I would be happy to testify in court to that effect. That took the wind out of his sails. I asked her if she wanted a ride home, or a ride to the bus stop if she’d had enough of men knowing where she lived. She laughed and said okay. So I drove her home and told her that watching her kick the shit out of that guy was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.” Peter falls silent and then wipes his eyes. “I will never meet anyone like her again.”

Chris reaches out and rests his hand on Peter’s forearm, giving it a squeeze, knowing that nothing he says will help.

After a moment, Peter gets up and takes out a bottle of Scotch. “Fuck this beer,” he says. “Want some?”

“Only if I can crash on your sofa.”

Peter nods and pours them both a shot. He downs his and says, “Okay, here’s a single parent question for you.”

“Shoot,” Chris says, sipping his drink.

“Do you get the pedophile stare?”

Chris laughs. “What’s that?”

“You know, at the grocery or the park, the women with their children staring at you like you must be a pedophile if you’re hanging out with kids. Or the ones who say ‘oh, look at you watching the kids’ like you should get some sort of medal for parenting your own damned children.”

“Oh, that stare.” Chris snorts. “Yes. Frequently.”

“It drives me nuts. Plus of course I often get the ‘are they yours’ question, because children of mixed heritage are apparently unheard of in this day and age.” Peter pours himself another shot. “Sophie looks a lot more like her mother than she does me. I’m going to have to learn how to do her hair before she starts school and it’s going to be an absolute nightmare.”

“There I can’t help. Although I can tell you that I learned how to French braid from YouTube.” Chris downs his Scotch. “And why do people think it’s okay to ask a complete stranger ‘where’s their mom’? Like it’s such an extraordinary occurrence to see a father out with the kids.”

Peter refills his glass. “If this month has taught me anything, it’s the ability of strangers to be inappropriate.”

“I bet,” Chris says.

“I mean, the first week it was all just ‘I’m so sorry to hear about your family’, et cetera,” Peter says, gesturing with his shot glass. “But then people started to say things like ‘I saw on the news that it was an electrical fire’ or ‘how are the kids managing’ and it’s just like . . . even when they mean well, it never seems to occur to them that maybe when I’m trying to remember which brand of orange juice Benjamin is willing to drink, that’s not the best time to butt in and ask me.”

Chris shakes his head. “People are nosy fucks.”

Peter snickers a little. “Feeling the Scotch, are we?”

“To be fair, I’m not much of a drinker. A couple beers is the most I ever really have. I’ll probably regret this tomorrow.” Chris frowns. “And really, one of us should stay sober for the kids.”

“I’m sober,” Peter says, and Chris gives him a skeptical look. “Okay, I’ve got a little buzz on, but don’t forget – alpha werewolf. I’d have to drink the whole damned bottle of Scotch if I wanted to actually get drunk.”

“So you’re telling me . . . that you drink alcohol . . . for the taste?” Chris says.

“Only the Scotch. Beer, I drink because it’s a thing guys do.” Peter shrugs. “Grow up in a werewolf family, you learn a lot about blending in. I’ve never really liked the taste of beer, but I don’t actively dislike it anymore.”

“Well, you can stick to something you actually like the taste of when I’m around.”

“Aww, that’s sweet.” Peter yawns. “Finish that glass and we can go watch the rest of the movie. I’m done thinking for the night.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

By the time a week has passed, Cora is mostly back to her usual self. She’s a little quieter than usual, but to be fair, she had never been a really outgoing child. While Laura had tons of close friends and Derek was a member of the popular jock crowd, Cora was usually somewhere with her nose in a book, shunning the company of others. In that, she’s more like Peter than she is like either of her parents.

She’s also getting bored. She gets along with her cousins, but she doesn’t care about playing pretend on Sophie’s level. Peter buys her some new books, but after the first week has gone by, she asks, “Shouldn’t I be going back to school?”

“I hadn’t really worried about it because next week is the last week of school for the year anyway,” Peter says. “I can talk to your teachers and get you some catch up work so you don’t have to stay behind a year.”

Cora scowls a little but doesn’t argue. Instead, she looks at Derek and says, “Shouldn’t _you_ be going back to school?”

Derek shrugs. “I didn’t want to, and Uncle Peter didn’t make me.”

“Education is important,” Cora tells him, and Peter has to stifle a snort.

“I’ll get educated later,” Derek says. “I needed to stay with Laura. That was more important.”

At this, Cora subsides. Peter, on the other hand, says, “You’re right, but Cora does have a point. We should work on a plan for how you’re going to catch up, too.”

“I’d rather just stay back,” Derek says, and Peter frowns at him. “I don’t want to have to . . . everyone I know, they’re all going to look at me weird and ask me tons of questions. They’ll want to _talk_ about it. I don’t want to talk about it. I’d rather just stay back and repeat the year with, with new people.”

“I can see your point,” Peter says, “but I’m not sure you’re thinking it through. What about things like basketball? You can’t just avoid everyone you knew forever.”

Derek shrugs, indicating that he doesn’t see why not, and Cora pipes up, “Yeah, what about your girlfriend?”

Peter blinks as Derek’s shoulders tighten. “You had a girlfriend?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Derek mumbles.

“And you . . .” Peter schools his expression into careful neutrality, because he doesn’t want his nephew feeling judged. “Have you spoken to her since the fire?”

“No,” Derek says, not meeting his gaze.

“Did it occur to you that she might feel badly about you cutting off all communication with her, even if she knows about the fire and understands that you might be hurting?”

“It’s not your business,” Derek snaps.

Peter decides to drop the subject, since Derek obviously doesn’t want to talk about it and he has a feeling that his attempts are only making things worse. “Well, we should probably talk with the counselor about your plan for school. Don’t give me that look,” he says, when Derek appears to be edging towards a sulk. “To be honest, it’s fine with me either way. Hell, drop out if you want. High school never did much for me. If you’d rather never spend another day there, it’s all one to me.”

“I’m not sure you should be encouraging me to do that,” Derek says, with a wan smile.

Peter just shrugs. “I’ve never been a good role model. And . . .” He lets out a breath. “Money isn’t exactly going to be a problem. I’ve put off discussing this with you, but maybe I should. Your parents left the three of you a substantial sum. It’s in a trust now, and a percentage of the life insurance money has gone into it as well. You were also the inheritors for Sean and Kayla, since . . . since Mike died in the fire with them. Simply put, you don’t need to worry about finding a career if you don’t want to. It’s more than enough money to live off of. What matters to me is that you find something to do, some way to spend your life, that makes you happy. Right now all you do is read and brood in Laura’s room. And yes, spending time with your sister is important. I’m glad you’re doing it, and I’m glad it seems to help you. But I don’t want you to do it twenty-four-seven for the rest of your life.”

Derek’s scowling, but he plays with the edge of his napkin and says, “I’ll talk to Ms. Morrell about it.”

“All right. And in the meantime, Cora, I’ll talk to the teachers about how we’re going to get you caught up, now that you’re feeling better.”

Cora agrees, so Peter calls the school to set up a meeting. He doesn’t want to have to bring all the children with him, but Derek again balks at the idea of being left alone with them. Peter doubts that his family’s killer is going to come back for them at this point, but he supposes that whoever it is _could_ just be waiting for an opportune moment. He manages to get it set up as a conference call instead. He asks if the make-up work packet can be given to Allison, and they agree.

Thus Peter’s career as a part-time teacher starts, since Cora is adamant that she’s going to learn all of this so she won’t be held back. He finds himself settling into a routine. He’s up early, since the kids always are. He makes breakfast and then settles down in Laura’s room to go through Cora’s lessons. Sophie sometimes participates, even though most of the material is way above her head. She’s excited about starting school the next year. Benjamin is getting more vocal. Derek sits with a book and occasionally scowls if he thinks they’re getting too loud.

After lunch, he puts Benjamin down for his nap, and then it’s any of a hundred chores he’s found that just never seem to go away. Laundry, dishes, vacuuming. There’s always something, and getting anything done while tending to the children takes five times as long as it should. Or sometimes there are errands to run – trips to the grocery store or the library or taking Derek to his counselor’s appointments.

Around four or five, Chris comes over with Allison in tow. Sometimes she brings her friend Lydia. The two of them and Cora are becoming quite a little trio, and Peter fully expects that they’ll be taking over the world someday. With Allison more involved in her own social life and less in befriending Sophie, the younger girl usually ends up in the kitchen with them. She can still get quite upset if she feels she’s being neglected, so Peter tries to keep her involved in whatever he and Chris are doing.

They eat dinner around six and then settle down for a board game or a movie, or they go outside and chase fireflies. Peter puts the younger children to bed while Chris keeps an eye on the older ones. He and Allison usually depart around nine, leaving Peter to do any other chores and eventually take a shower and collapse into a dreamless sleep.

It’s not that he forgets about finding his family’s killer. It’s just that, as he and Chris hit more and more dead ends, he can’t find the energy to invest in it. Nobody at the gym knows anything about the betting ring. The man who owned the gym before the fire moved out of Beacon Hills a year later, and even Peter’s contacts haven’t been able to track him down. Both the jewelry store and the electronics store have no leads left. Tom Stilinski isn’t able to find anything unusual in Meyers’ phone or financial records. When the autopsy returns, stating conclusively that he died of a heart attack, the investigation into his death is closed.

He sits with Laura and talks to her about it sometimes, trying to bounce ideas off her as if it might make her come back to them. But she never even looks at him, and as the days drag on, he spends less and less time on it. There’s just so much else going on.

“Hey, I was wondering if you could do me a favor,” Chris says while Peter chops peppers to make fajitas. He looks surprisingly uneasy.

“Christ, what’s with that look?” Peter says. “I must owe you a thousand favors. Do you really think I’ll say no?”

“It’s not that, it’s just . . .” Chris clears his throat. “I was wondering if I could leave Allison with you for the weekend.”

Peter blinks, a little surprised. “Sure.”

Chris glances over from the garlic, a little suspicious. “You’re not going to ask why?”

“You can tell me if you want,” Peter says, “but you don’t have to, if it’s something you don’t want to talk about. And it really looks like you don’t want to talk about it.”

“No, I just . . . I guess I figured if you knew why, you wouldn’t agree.”

Peter glances over at him and shoves the pile of peppers aside. “So you’re going on a hunt?”

Still looking uncomfortable, Chris nods. “A series of disappearances in a town north of here. Traced it back to a couple wendigoes.”

“Okay.” Peter picks up an onion and then turns to face him. “Look, Chris, I’m not exactly in love with your career, but I know you. You go after monsters. So, you know. It has nothing to do with me. Or with the person who killed my family.” He grabs his onion goggles, then adds, “Anything else you want to get off your chest?”

Chris shakes his head. “Nope, I’m good.”

“You still look like someone kicked your puppy.”

“I’m not really looking forward to it.” Chris turns back to the garlic. Getting the hint, Peter starts on the onions so he won’t be looking at Chris. “My father’s running the hunt. I haven’t seen him in a couple of years.”

“Why is he involved all of a sudden?”

Chris grimaces a little. “Generally speaking, I run most of the hunting in this region. But wendigoes are hard to kill, and require a certain . . . expertise, which I don’t have. I put out feelers to a couple guys I know to see if they could recommend anyone. Next thing I know, my dad’s on the phone, telling me that he heard I need his help.”

“So let him handle it,” Peter says. “If he thinks he’s so special.”

“I can’t do that with my dad.” Chris shakes his head. “He’s the definition of ‘give an inch and he’ll take a mile’. I let him handle one hunt for me, soon he’ll be trying to move in and sticking his nose into all my business. Which is the last thing I want. I generally try to keep a couple states between me and my father.”

“I feel like I should meet this guy,” Peter says thoughtfully.

“Oh, God, no. Seriously? If my father knew I was – er, playing house, as you put it – with a werewolf pack, he’d probably try to have me committed. Or exorcised.”

There’s a glint in Peter’s eye, but he keeps his voice even. “I see.”

“You said you had heard of him.”

“That I have.” Peter finishes with the onion. “So I can keep an eye on Allison while you rid the world of some nasties, and make sure that your father doesn’t have any reason to look in this direction. Sounds like a solid plan.”

“Right,” Chris says, relieved.

Peter frowns as something occurs to him. “Won’t he want to see his granddaughter, though?”

“I’m sort of hoping he forgets Allison exists,” Chris says, and Peter gives him a somewhat skeptical look. “I know. But if the hunt goes well, I can probably make excuses, say she was staying at a friend’s house. If he wants to see her, I’ll just take them both out to lunch and tell Allison not to mention our new friends.”

“She won’t think that’s odd?”

“Of course she will.” Chris rubs a hand over his hair. “But I’m not exactly long on options. You don’t – look, you’ve heard of my father, but you don’t – you don’t understand him.”

Peter looks at him thoughtfully. “Are you actually afraid he’d try to have you committed? I mean, does he have the power he would need to do that?”

“Legally? Maybe not. But he – he would take Allison from me. Even if he couldn’t do it using the law. He still would. Just – take her away.”

“I will _not_ let that happen,” Peter snarls, and Chris’ head snaps around to see Peter’s eyes flare crimson. “I would track him to the ends of the earth and tear out his God damned throat before I saw you lose your daughter.”

“I – oh.” Chris gives a soft laugh. “So this is what being adopted by a werewolf pack feels like, I guess.”

Peter blinks, and the crimson fades from his eyes. “Sorry,” he says. “Only not, you know, _really_. I meant every word.”

“I know you did.”

“Does that bother you?”

Chris shrugs. “No.”

“Well, all right, then. I’m done with the onions. Let’s get this party started.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	8. Chapter 8

Allison’s weekend at the Hale house is uneventful. As the weather gets nicer, they’re spending more and more time outdoors. Peter will carry Laura out to a special lawn chair he got just for her, and she actually seems to enjoy it. She still never talks to anyone, but he sees her looking around, studying her surroundings. Sophie, Allison, and Cora run around and play in the dirt. Derek sometimes joins them, or sometimes reads or plays with Benjamin.

It seems that Chris is able to put his father off, because he picks Allison up on Sunday evening after dinner and doesn’t say anything about it.

Peter buys a grill and they start cooking outside more. Now that school is over, Allison has the days free, and since Chris works during the day, he starts dropping her off in the morning. He asks several times if Peter is really okay with this, and Peter keeps giving him disappointed looks as if to say that he’s an idiot for asking.

With Allison in the mix and Cora recovering more and more every day, they start leaving the house more often. Allison is adventurous and has a big group of friends. There are picnics and movies, amusement parks and water slides. Chris has a friend who has a house by Lake Shasta, and they go up for a weekend and go swimming and boating.

Peter brings Laura with them as much as he’s able, although he has to be very careful to keep her out of the sun. There are a few rude stares and awkward questions, but he answers them evenly – Laura’s injuries have left her in a semi-vegetative state. “But that’s no reason to leave her home in bed all the time,” he always adds. Children adapt to it more quickly than the adults do. Peter doesn’t give a rat’s ass what anyone thinks of his parenting style, so he doesn’t care if other parents think it’s appropriate or not. The kids pick dandelions and make Laura a flower crown, they bring her neat pinecones they found in the woods, they make sure to always ask her if she wants anything from the ice cream truck even if she never answers.

And even though she isn’t talking, she _is_ recovering. Her physical therapy is going well. She’s able to walk for short intervals now. She doesn’t eat without prompting, but if Peter puts food on a plate in front of her, she’ll eat it on her own. The scarring is gruesome, but fabric against her skin makes her uncomfortable, so he dresses her in little sundresses and dares the world to tell them that she should hide her skin.

Once she’s seen out and about, some of her old friends take this as a sign that it’s okay to try to pick up their friendship with her. One of them that they run into at a playground, there with her younger sister, timidly asks Peter if it’s all right for them to come over for a little while the next day. Peter says sure. Three girls show up, armed with fashion magazines and hair implements. They spend the day doing makeovers for each other in Laura’s room. They paint Laura’s nails and try different hairstyles for her. That night, for the first time since the fire, Peter sees Laura smile. He cries for an hour once everybody else has gone to bed.

Even Derek seems to start enjoying their outings. He’s started bringing a sketchbook with him. The counselor suggested it, he tells Peter begrudgingly. Art is a good way for him to ‘express his emotions’, she said. Derek clearly thinks that’s bullshit, but he does seem to enjoy drawing. Peter asks him if he wants to try taking an art class. Derek says no, but then hesitates and asks if maybe they can go to a store and buy him some supplies. He wants to try painting, especially watercolors. He’s been watching YouTube tutorials.

Peter doesn’t care if Derek wants to be anti-social about his art as long as he enjoys doing it, so he says sure. They spend a lot of money not only on art supplies, but on a new laptop for Derek so he can watch the videos on a bigger screen.

On rainy days where the park or the outdoors aren’t an option, they sometimes go to the mall or to the roller-skating rink. Sophie in particular loves the latter, and she’s actually pretty good at it for someone so young. Cora and Allison tend to hang out with Lydia and watch other people and judge them. Peter catches them giggling one day over the antics of two goofy boys on the other side of the rink, which ends somehow with the two boys coming over to his house the next day. It turns out their names are Scott and Stiles, and they’re Melissa McCall and Tom Stilinski’s children, respectively. Allison keeps blushing whenever Scott looks at her, while Lydia treats both boys with haughty disdain and Stiles is more interested in pelting everyone in the area with questions about the most random of things.

“I think Allison’s got a crush,” Lydia teases that night at dinner, and Chris practically chokes on a mouthful of food.

“No,” he tells Peter that night, after the little kids are in bed and the girls are on the sofa with a movie. “It’s too early for this. She’s only twelve. She can’t be interested in boys yet.”

“Given her The Talk yet, Argent?” Peter asks, amused.

“Sort of. I mean, she knows what sex is and how babies are made, but . . .” Chris groans. “It was bad enough when she had her first period. How am I supposed to talk to her about sex?”

Peter’s trying not to snicker. “God, humans are so Puritanical about sex. It never fails to amaze me. Just tell her, sex is a fun thing adults do together. Sometimes they do it because they want to make babies, or show how much they love each other. Sometimes they just do it because it’s enjoyable. Then tell her that she never has to have sex if she doesn’t want to, and that if any person tries, she should kick them in the crotch. Oh, and teach her how to put a condom on someone.”

“She’s _twelve_ ,” Chris objects, scandalized. “I don’t think she’s ever even kissed a boy!”

Peter shrugs. “Look, you can stick to the ‘don’t have sex yet’ spiel if you want, but I prefer practicality.”

Chris groans again.

“On the upside, Scott McCall is a great kid for her to have a crush on,” Peter muses, “because he can barely get out of his own way, so I really doubt he’s the type who will lose his virginity before the age of about thirty.”

“Thanks for that, Peter,” Chris says.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Days turn into weeks, and the summer starts to fly by. The house is always full of people now. Peter has by far the nicest house and the biggest yard out of any of the ‘parents’ of Cora and Allison’s friend groups, and Sophie has started to make friends on their various outings as well. Scott and Stiles often come over to visit, and Tom apologizes that Peter has to put up with being the summer baby-sitter.

“Don’t worry about it,” Peter says. “I’m actually kind of enjoying the circus. It’s nice to have people around again. The house was always so busy . . . before. This is like having a family again, even if it’s not mine.”

This is true, even if he’s privately exhausted most of the time. Keeping up with the children, moving Laura around and making sure she’s protected from the sun, doing the shopping, the laundry, keeping the house clean – it’s all far more tiring than it has any right to be. He supposes he could get a cleaning lady, but doesn’t like the idea of any other adults having access to the house. He’s still a little paranoid, despite how much time has passed.

The first week of August is Sophie’s sixth birthday. They have a mermaid themed party, and Sophie seems to be having a good time. But she has a full-on meltdown when her presents are gone, saying that she had asked in her dreams over and over again ‘for God to bring Mommy back’. Chris and Melissa hastily round up the other kids to bring them out back so Peter can try to calm her down. Eventually, she does, but she’s quiet and mopey for days afterwards. Her mood affects Peter no matter how much he tries not to let it; he gets snappish and impatient with the other children, and he doesn’t sleep well or have much appetite.

Things get better for Sophie, but not for Peter. He keeps thinking back to the party, to all the birthdays they’re going to have to go through for years, without his wife. Benjamin’s talking more and more now; he knows up, again, more, and a handful of other words. There’s just so much going on, and it kills him to think of how much Olivia would have loved it. Sophie’s going to be starting school. She wants to start taking gymnastics with Allison.

He starts having dreams about the night of the fire again, and he doesn’t tell anybody. What does it matter? There’s nothing anyone can do to help. He just has to power through it. He’s doing it for the kids. No matter how much he’s hurting on the inside, he will do everything he needs to do, to keep them safe and happy.

He tells himself that every single day, while Laura continues to improve and Derek’s art is hanging on the walls, while Cora accumulates books and Sophie collects Hatchimals, while Benjamin runs around in the back yard and makes friends with bugs.

Nobody ever needs to know how much pain he’s in.

Or so he tells himself, which is why he’s somewhat startled (and annoyed) when Chris pulls him aside as he’s dropping Allison off one morning and asks if they can talk for a few minutes. Peter just shrugs. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but what he gets is Chris asking, “Are you okay?”

Peter frowns at him. “I’m fine. Why?”

“You’ve seemed a little off lately. Short-tempered, withdrawn. You don’t have opinions on things, and it’s weird to see you without opinions.” Chris studies him for a moment, and when Peter just rolls his eyes, he adds, “Derek’s mentioned it, too. He’s worried about you.”

“Derek’s worried about me?” Peter shakes his head. “I’m fine, Chris. Thanks for checking in.”

He turns away and goes inside, aware of Chris studying him, aware that he basically just ran away from a conversation he didn’t want to have. He doubts that Chris believes him, and tells himself he doesn’t care.

Only, the thing is, it’s a bad day. Benjamin is cranky for no reason at all. Derek is annoyed because he ran out of some of his paints and Peter won’t take him to the store. “You should have asked yesterday when I had time, but now everyone’s here and I don’t,” Peter tells him, and Derek just scowls and sulks around the house.

Sophie’s being whiny because Peter is trying to learn how to do her hair from YouTube, and he’s failing on almost every level. When she finishes whining over that, she whines because the older girls are playing a game that’s too advanced for her. Cora gets snarly when Sophie tries to butt in, and Peter has to mediate three different fights. Even Allison is being less pleasant and bubbly than usual, and when Peter burns the grilled cheeses he’s making for lunch, she looks at him like he served her a dead rat.

By the time Chris shows up that evening for dinner, Peter’s about ready to start screaming at people. He just wants to crawl under his bed for a little while. But of course, he can’t have that. God knows when we’ll ever be able to have it again.

Chris watches him, more quietly than usual, as they make dinner and he tries to wrangle the kids and keep things under control. Peter’s starting to think he might actually survive the day until after dinner, when Cora gets angry because he won’t let her have dessert, because she wouldn’t eat her vegetables. “You’re not my dad!” she shouts.

Peter recoils as if she had slapped him, and chokes on the angry response that wants to leap out of his mouth. It’s Chris who responds, his voice firm but not loud. “Cora, that’s enough. Peter might not be your father but he is the adult who takes care of you, and he’s doing his best. That means he deserves your respect, and I certainly hope you care about him enough that you didn’t mean to deliberately hurt him like that just because he wouldn’t let you have some cookies.”

Cora scowls, but then her gaze darts over to Peter and she sees the raw, wounded look on his face. She looks at her shoes and mumbles, “I’m sorry, Uncle Peter.”

“It’s fine, Cora,” Peter manages, and gives her a hug. “I know losing your parents was hard. It was hard for me, too.”

Cora pulls away and leaves the room, trudging up the stairs. Chris turns to Peter and says quietly, “Why don’t you take five, okay? I’ll get the kids settled down.”

Peter nods, because he doesn’t like it but he desperately needs a few minutes to collect himself and he knows it. He goes into the downstairs bathroom, where he can sit on the toilet and muffle his sobs in a hand towel.

Chris finds him there about ten minutes later, and when he knocks on the door, Peter hastily wipes his eyes and washes his face before exiting. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Chris says, studying Peter. “You know what you need?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

“You need a break.”

“I just had one,” Peter says, gesturing to the bathroom.

“No, you need a _break_ ,” Chris says. “Like, a day off. I mean, when was the last time you weren’t supervising the children for more than ten minutes straight? Besides when you’re sleeping, which you’re clearly not doing enough of.”

Peter sighs. “I appreciate your concern, Chris, but – ”

“No, there are no buts about this,” Chris says, and Peter has to hold back a witty retort. “You’ve been working your ass off caring for not just your own _five_ kids, one of whom is disabled, but half your friends’ kids too. That is not an easy job. And I know that you’ve enjoyed having people around again, but that doesn’t mean it’s not stressful.” He takes out his phone and starts tapping at the screen. “I’m going to ask Tom and Melissa when the next day one of them has free is. They can take Sophie and Benjamin. Derek can stay here with Laura, and Cora and Allison can go to Lydia’s.”

“I can’t just ask them to – ”

“Help you out for one day after Scott and Stiles have been over here three days a week for the last month?” Chris counters, and Peter scowls at him. “And then we’re going out. Because if we stay here, you’ll just try to clean or sit with Laura all day.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Argent?” Peter asks.

Chris’ cheeks flush a little pink, but he doesn’t miss a beat. “You can call it whatever you want, if you’ll agree to do it.”

“You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

“Nope.” Chris glances down at his phone. “Okay, Melissa has Tuesday off and says she’ll be happy to watch Sophie and Benjamin. Start thinking about what you want to do with yourself for a day, Peter. It’ll be good for you.”

Peter flips him off, and then heads out to the kitchen without saying a word.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Chris gives Allison a wave as she and Cora trot up the Martins’ front steps and go into the house. Melissa had picked up Sophie and Benjamin earlier that day. Now it’s nine thirty in the morning, and it’s just him and Peter, and he _definitely_ should not have butterflies in his stomach. It might be the first time they’ve been alone together since the summer started and things got chaotic. But of all the things this outing is going to be, it definitely won’t be a date.

It also won’t be anywhere outdoors. It’s been raining since midnight, and it doesn’t look like it’ll be letting up any time soon. Chris had actually thought about asking Peter if he wanted to reschedule, but decided against it. Peter needs this too badly. “So where do you want to go?” he asks. “The world’s your oyster, Hale.”

Peter’s mouth works for a moment before he just shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Wherever.”

Chris sighs. “I know that you don’t think you need this, but – ”

“God damn it, I’m not trying to be an ass,” Peter says, and impatiently wipes tears out of his eyes. “It’s just that wherever we go, I’m going to be thinking about my wife. About how much I wish she was still with me, how I wish I could be taking her this place. It doesn’t _matter_ , Chris. I need a break, you’re right, but I don’t – I don’t want to – ”

“Okay,” Chris says quietly. He turns the car down the street and heads back to his own house. Peter doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask where they’re going. He does look a little puzzled when Chris pulls up in his own driveway and parks the car. “You just need some down time, that’s all. Here’s as good a place as any. I’ve got work to do, I won’t bug you if you don’t want company. Come inside, you can make some tea and read a book. Sound good?”

Some of the tension leaves Peter’s shoulders, and he nods. “Your tea collection is probably lackluster at best, but all right.”

“Nothing to say about my book collection?”

“I figured I’d look at it first so I could work up a really appropriate insult. But to be honest, at this point I’d read Twilight as long as I got to read it in peace.”

Chris snorts. “Proudest moment of my fatherhood so far was when Allison told me how much she hates those books,” he says, heading up the steps. He unlocks the dead bolt and the spring lock, and then lets them inside. They take off their jackets and their shoes and head into the kitchen.

Peter peruses Chris’ three varieties of tea before giving a snort and saying, “At least you have Earl Grey.”

“I’ll do this, you go choose a book,” Chris says, waving towards the living room.

Five minutes later, Peter is curled up in an armchair with a mug of tea, a blanket, and a Tom Clancy novel. Chris isn’t much on literature, but he likes mysteries and suspense thrillers, so he has a sizable collection. As far as he can tell, Peter grabbed one at random. But he seems to be enjoying it well enough, so Chris settles down with some paperwork, invoices and inventory reports for some of the distributors for his day job.

After about an hour, Chris glances over and sees that Peter has fallen asleep. He covers him up with a blanket and lets him sleep.

It’s a little before noon when Peter yawns and stretches. He gets up and shambles into the kitchen, rubbing a hand over the back of his head. “How long did I sleep?”

“Not too long. An hour, maybe.” Chris sets his books aside. “Hungry?”

“Starving.”

“I wasn’t really thinking about having food here. You okay with some sandwiches?”

“Sure, that’s fine,” Peter says, drawing a chair out and sitting down. “That book isn’t bad, but even I can’t read all day. Do you play chess?”

Chris grimaces as he gets some lunch meat out of the refrigerator. “Ugh, no. My dad tried to teach me once, but I hated it.”

“Go? Shogi?” Peter sounds hopeful, then amused. “Checkers? Hangman? Rummy? Egyptian Ratscrew?”

“Now you’re just making shit up,” Chris says, laughing.

“I actually am not,” Peter says. “Easy on the mayo there,” he adds, as Chris finishes up his sandwich. “How about we just watch a movie? Something kid unfriendly. Violent. With lots of bad language. Maybe some nudity. I haven’t heard an actor say fuck in at least four months.” He eats a bite of his sandwich and says with his mouth full, “But no romance.”

Chris thinks about this for a moment and then says, “How about Reservoir Dogs? I’ve got that on DVD.”

“Oh, excellent choice,” Peter says. “Hard to go wrong with classic Tarantino.”

They eat their sandwiches and settle down on the sofa. Peter watches the movie with rapt attention, although Chris sees his eyes sag shut a few times. Afterwards, they debate watching something else, and Peter commits heresy by saying he doesn’t like Pulp Fiction – he respects it for its ground-breaking technique but didn’t enjoy it in the slightest, he says – and then Peter says he’s actually getting a little restless. Chris suggests going out to do something vaguely sports-oriented, and Peter wrinkles his nose at the word ‘sports’, and then Chris’ phone rings.

“Hold that thought,” he says, glancing down at the screen. He sees the label and his jaw tightens involuntarily before he answers. “Hey, Dad.”

“Chris!” Gerard says, as genial as ever. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine,” Chris says. “You?”

“Oh, can’t complain, can’t complain,” Gerard says. “Listen I’m going to be up in your neck of the woods next week, coming through from a trip up to Oregon I’m taking with some friends. Thought I might stop by and see you and Allison.”

Chris lets out a breath and makes sure to keep his voice even. “It’s not very good timing,” he says. “Allison’s starting school next week.”

“I wouldn’t get in the way. We could just grab dinner somewhere, maybe?”

“Maybe some other time,” Chris says.

“You said that the last three times,” Gerard says, and he’s still keeping a friendly tone. “Keep this up and I’m going to think you don’t want me seeing my granddaughter.”

Chris says nothing. He knows better than to fall into that trap.

“How’s her training going?” Gerard asks.

Chris fights down the urge to just hang up the phone. “We’ve been over this, Dad. Allison’s not getting any training beyond her gymnastics and archery lessons, and I don’t intend to change that. She’s too young.”

“Too young!” Gerard feigns disbelief even though they’ve had this discussion a dozen times or more. “You were training by the time you were in first grade!”

“Yes,” Chris says, “and my memories of that are exactly why I’m not doing the same thing to Allison.” He hears his father start to say something and overrides him. “This isn’t a debate. Allison is my daughter, and it’s my decision, and you know damned well that the fact that you refuse to drop this is exactly why I keep putting you off when you want to see her.”

“Oh, come on,” Gerard says. “You always talk about that like you didn’t have fun. But okay,” he adds, before Chris can tell him to fuck off. “Maybe some other time. I’ll call you.”

“Fine,” Chris says, and hangs up. He realizes that his entire body is tense, ready to snap.

Peter is giving him a look that’s partly curious, partly sympathetic. “Dare I ask what sort of training a six-year-old gets in the Argent family?”

Chris carefully sets the phone down before he can break it. “My first training session, I was kidnapped in the middle of the night, tied to a chair in an abandoned house where it was below freezing, and blindfolded. I listened to them shoot my father – or so I thought – and then had to get myself free.”

“And that was when you were _six_?” Peter is clearly appalled. “Did you know it was a training exercise?”

“No. I had no idea. And when I finally got free about half an hour later, my father took the blindfold off and berated me for how long it had taken.”

“Wow.” Peter just stares at him for a moment. “Okay. Interesting. I definitely need to burn off some energy, I think. I’ve been sitting still too long.”

Chris nods in agreement, knowing that Peter is doing it partially for him, but that it probably _does_ feel weird for the alpha to be still for so long. “Still raining. How about racquetball? Ever played?”

“No, but I’m an alpha werewolf, so I’ll undoubtedly kick your ass at it.”

“Oh, that sounds like a challenge,” Chris says, and he’s smiling again. He finds some clothes to loan Peter and they head down to the gym. They don’t worry about rules or about keeping score, which is probably good for his pride, since Peter soundly thrashes him. Chris doesn’t let it bother him. He’ll never have the speed and reflexes of an alpha werewolf, even one who’s _not_ showing off.

“Tired?” he asks, after about an hour of wearing themselves out on the court. “There’s a pool and a sauna if you want.”

“Sure,” Peter says. They go for a quick swim to cool off, then settle down in the sauna. It’s an off time, late afternoon, and it’s empty except for the two of them. Peter closes his eyes and rests the back of his head against the wall. Chris lets him have the quiet, lets him relax. For several minutes, he thinks that Peter’s fallen asleep again. Then he says, out of nowhere, “Lately I’ve been wondering . . . if this is as good as it gets.”

Chris opens his eyes and looks over. “What do you mean?”

“I miss Olivia so much,” Peter says. “I wake up every morning and think about how much I miss her. Everything that happens reminds me of her. And it’s not that things have changed that much since the month after the fire, but I feel like . . . I’m becoming more aware of it. That not only am I constantly thinking about her, I’m constantly thinking about how much I’m thinking about her. I watch a movie and think ‘Olivia would have loved that movie’. I take Sophie to buy new shoes and wonder if Olivia would have chosen the same shoes. It’s just . . . the holes she left behind are so . . . pervasive.”

“I know,” Chris says.

“So I wonder . . . is it always going to be like this? But then I think, what’s the alternative? The idea of moving on, of getting over her, makes me feel sick. The idea that I might just forget about her. And I know, everyone says, you have to think of what she would want. Olivia would want me to be happy. But how can I forget her? And how can I _not_? How long can I live like this and not go insane? You told me I would learn to carry it, and sometimes I think I have, but then I think ‘if this is as good as things are ever going to be, I’m going to spend my entire life at the bottom of a pit of misery’.”

“You’ll never forget her,” Chris says. “I can tell you that right now. There will never be a day you don’t think of her. Whether it’s because of a movie or a new pair of shoes, a drawing your daughter does or a pretty sunset. There will _never_ be a day when you don’t think of her.”

“I don’t know if that helps or makes things worse.”

“It hurts less as time goes on,” Chris says. “I don’t really know how to explain it. You can think back about the time you had with her, and it’ll make you happy, even if you still miss her.” He shrugs. “I guess all I can say for now is, don’t worry about how much you miss her. Miss her as much as you feel like missing her, and stop overthinking it. Take each day at a time.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do, I just . . .” Peter closes his eyes again. “It’s God damned exhausting is what it is.”

“Yeah,” Chris says. “You need to take it easier on yourself.”

Peter makes a disgruntled noise, then says, “School starting should help with that.”

“True.”

“You know what else bothers me?”

“Mm?”

“I don’t miss Talia and the others the same way. I mean, I miss them, but it’s not the same sort of, of preoccupying grief. And then I feel guilty about it. Talia was my sister, my alpha. I should miss her as much, but it’s Olivia that I can’t stop thinking about.”

“I don’t think that’s so weird,” Chris says. “The kind of love you share with a wife is different. Plus you have the kids, and taking care of them is naturally going to make you think about their mother.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Peter yawns, then says, “I’m starving. Do you like Thai food? I haven’t had any in months because Sophie doesn’t like it.”

“Sure,” Chris says. “We should order some food and then watch another movie.”

“Sounds good.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	9. Chapter 9

 

Two weeks into school, the inevitable happens, and honestly, Peter is surprised it took so long. The kids are running around in the backyard, burning off all the energy a day at school had pent up. He’s vaguely thinking about making them go inside and do their homework when Cora corners too fast and spills onto the ground.

“You okay?” he calls over to her, without much concern. She’s already getting up. He can see that she’d landed pretty hard, and both her knees are bleeding. She wipes them off impatiently and calls back that she’s fine.

Peter sees Allison staring at her in shock, and it takes him a few moments to realize why. “You – your leg – ”

“What?” Cora asks.

“You skinned your knee, I saw, but it, it’s fine now – ”

“Oh, yeah, it healed.” Cora shrugs. “One of the perks of being a werewolf.”

Allison practically squeaks, as Peter stands up and walks over, seeing that intervention is going to be necessary. “That’s _real_? I, I always figured it was like, like some sort of in-joke that you guys liked to kick around – ”

“What? No, we’re totally werewolves.” Cora holds her hands up and displays her claws. “See?”

“Holy shit!” Allison blurts out.

“Language, Allison,” Peter remarks, although he doesn’t really care. Chris is much more strict about that sort of thing than he is. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you earlier. Although, you might argue that we did, but I knew you didn’t believe us and I was just letting that slide.”

“You’re a werewolf too? You’re _all_ werewolves?” Allison stares at him.

“Well, Sophie and Benjamin aren’t,” Peter says, “because my wife Olivia was human, up until after Benjamin was born, at which point she became a werewolf.” He ignores the pain in his gut, the reminder that if they hadn’t decided to do that, Olivia might have survived the fire. “But I am, yes, and so are Talia’s children.”

Allison’s mouth is just hanging open. It stays that way for several long moments. Peter patiently waits for her to work through it. He’d had this moment with Olivia, too. Finally, Allison’s brain kicks back into gear and she blurts out, “What about vampires? Are vampires real? Oh my God, is _Twilight_ real? Do you guys imprint like in Twilight? Because that was pretty weird, I did not like that at all, and so I’m kind of sketched out if you do that. Oh my God! What about magic? Is magic real? So you guys can heal injuries? But then why did so many people die in the fire? Oh geez that was super insensitive, I’m sorry – ”

Peter holds up his hands to slow her torrent of words. “Okay. One thing at a time. Most important first. We do not imprint. We fall in love like normal people.”

“Oh. Okay. That, uh, that’s good.”

“Come sit down with me,” Peter says, gesturing for her to come sit down with him on the back porch. “Yes, we heal most injuries. But we can’t heal everything. Severe injuries can still kill us, and that’s what happened to my family.”

Allison hugs her knees to her chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Peter says. “Vampires are real, in the same manner that the woolly mammoth is real. They existed, but they’re extinct.”

“Really?”

“Mm hm. Back after Bram Stoker published his handy ‘how to kill a vampire’ guide, they were hunted to extinction. I suppose it’s possible that there are a few left hiding under rocks somewhere, but if so, they’re very careful to keep to themselves.”

“What about witches?”

“Yes, although the term ‘witch’ as you think about it isn’t exactly accurate,” Peter says, enjoying the look on her face as she receives this education. “Anyone who can do magic is a mage, and there are several subcategories. A witch or a warlock uses dark magic. A sorcerer is someone who uses object-enhanced magic. And a Druid is someone who uses nature-based magic.”

“This is so cool,” Allison breathes out. “I can’t believe all this was happening and I didn’t know any of it.”

Peter shrugs. “I am sorry about that, but your father asked me not to tell you.”

“Dad _knows_ about this?” Allison squeaks, and Peter arches his eyebrows at her. “Oh my God! I can’t believe he never told me! He’s known all this time that you guys are a werewolf pack and he just never said anything about it! That, that fink!”

Peter has to bite back a snort of laughter. “I think he was just worried about you being in danger.”

Allison gives him a blank look. “Danger? Why?”

“Well . . .” Peter lets out a breath. “Before I talk to you more about that, I want you to know that you can’t tell anyone about this. About werewolves in general or my family specifically. Not Lydia, not Scott, nobody outside this family can know about this. Okay?”

“Why?” Allison asks, frowning.

“Because humans are very, very frightened of things that are different, of things they don’t understand. Remember that book you read over the summer about the Salem Witch trials?”

Subdued, Allison nods.

“The same sort of thing can and _would_ happen here. And if you don’t want to believe that, you only have to take a look at what happened to my family.”

Allison hugs her knees tighter to her chest. “I thought the fire was an accident.”

“I wish it had been, Allison. But it wasn’t. As far as I know, someone targeted and murdered most of my family just because we’re werewolves. But I don’t know for sure, because we were never able to figure out who had done it.”

“That’s awful,” Allison says.

“Yes, it is. A lot of awful things happen in the grown-up world. I think your father was just trying to spare you from them as long as possible.” With a little bit of humor, Peter says, “I did warn him that you were going to figure it out eventually if you kept hanging out with the kids, but I think he was hoping that it wouldn’t be for a long time.”

“Well . . . he’s still a fink,” Allison grumbles.

For an hour or so, Peter just tells Allison about werewolves. He talks about pack and hierarchy and anchors. He explains how and when they shift, and why they don’t always shift on the full moon. He talks about genetics and why his kids are human but Talia and Aaron’s were all werewolves. He explains the mountain ash circle around his house and how he knows that his family was murdered. She listens intently and asks intelligent questions.

Chris comes home about half an hour after they’re finished talking about it. The kids are doing homework and Peter is in the kitchen, peeling potatoes to go with dinner. He’s had pot roast in the slow cooker most of the day, so the dinner preparations will be minimal.

“Dad!” Allison shouts, before Peter can try to prepare him. “I can’t believe you never told me werewolves are real!”

Chris looks at her with his mouth half-open, then looks at Peter, who shrugs. “I _told_ you that she’d eventually find out.”

“It was my decision to make,” Chris growls at him, “and I don’t appreciate you making it for me.”

“I didn’t,” Peter snaps. “Cora fell and skinned her knees, and Allison watched them heal. And I don’t appreciate _you_ making that out to be my fault, when I specifically _warned you_ that it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Chris stops and takes a deep breath. “No, you’re right. I just – there are things about what I do that – ”

“Good Lord, Chris, stop talking,” Peter says, when Allison’s eyes get wide with renewed curiosity. “I didn’t tell her anything about all of that. I just told her about the pack, and my family. Well, and some about vampires and mages, but – ” He waves this aside. Seeing that Allison isn’t going to let this go, he adds to her, “Your father hunts monsters for a living. He’s quite good at it. Now that we’ve covered that, would you help Cora set the table?”

“Okay,” Allison says reluctantly, going to get a stack of plates.

Peter draws Chris aside into a more private area of the house. “I didn’t say anything about you or Victoria,” he says. “The only time you came up at all was that I told her that you hadn’t wanted her to know about all this, because she was upset we hadn’t told her earlier.”

“Well, you had,” Chris says, regaining some humor. “Or at least Sophie had, loudly and with great detail.”

“Not all of it accurate,” Peter says with a snort.

Chris sighs. “I’m sorry I bit your head off. You didn’t deserve that.”

Peter gives a shrug. “True. What’s bothering you?”

For a minute, he thinks Chris won’t answer. His posture is tight and defensive. But then he says, “My dad called again today. Says he’s thinking of coming up for Christmas or Thanksgiving. I don’t know how much longer I can put him off.”

“Mm hm.” Peter studies Chris for a long moment. “I know you and your father don’t get along, and God knows _I’m_ happier when someone like that is two states away from me. But I admit I’m a little puzzled as to why you’re so vehemently against him coming to town if it’s just for a day or two.”

“The thing is, it’s _never_ ‘just a day or two’ when it’s my dad,” Chris says. He shakes his head. “I’ve seen him off and on through the years, usually for work, but he hasn’t seen Allison in at least five years. I just . . . I just know he’s going to say something about Victoria. Allison still doesn’t know, and I don’t know how to tell her. I kept thinking I would wait until she was old enough to understand, but . . .”

“But she won’t,” Peter concludes. “Particularly not now that she’s found out that we’re werewolves, that being a werewolf is nothing to be ashamed or afraid of.”

“Yeah,” Chris says.

Peter mulls this over. “You know, Chris, it’s okay if she doesn’t understand. It’s okay if she knows that _you_ don’t understand. I know that you don’t want her to think poorly of her mother, but it’s okay for you to tell her that you wish Victoria hadn’t killed herself. It’s okay for you to explain that both you and Victoria had been indoctrinated to see werewolves as monsters, and that you’ve matured out of that view as you’ve gotten older.” He reaches out and squeezes Chris’ forearm. “It’s okay if Allison doesn’t understand.”

“I loved Victoria,” Chris says. “I just hate the idea of Allison thinking of her as a bad person.”

“So tell her that,” Peter says. “Tell her that her mother was a good woman who loved her very much, who made bad choices, most of them out of a lack of knowledge and understanding. Just be honest with her, Chris.”

“I guess you’re right.” Chris sighs. “Then my dad will come to town and try to stir shit up, and undoubtedly come to the conclusion that I’m doing everything wrong, and spend the next six years trying to turn Allison into the hunter he wants her to be.”

“What’s up with that, anyway?” Peter asks, heading back into the kitchen so he can finish with the potatoes.

“It’s a pride thing. The Argents have been one of the best hunting families for generations. I told him flat out that I was unlikely to remarry and have more kids after Victoria’s death. My sister Kate isn’t the maternal sort. So Allison’s all he’s got. He’s desperate to make her into a fantastic hunter so she can carry on his legacy.”

Peter grimaces. “Well, I still say the best way to forestall that is to just be honest with Allison. Not just about her mother, but about her grandfather.”

Chris nods, then says, “You’re probably right. But my dad isn’t the kind of person who gives up easily.”

“Somehow I don’t think your daughter is, either.”

At this, Chris laughs. “True. She got her mother’s stubborn streak.”

“Then try not to worry about it so much. But seriously – talk to Allison about her mother. You’ll feel better afterwards.”

“Easy for you to say.” Chris glances over at where the kids are playing in the living room. “Do any of your kids besides Derek know the full story of what happened to your family?”

“Cora does. She tried to get in the house, so she knows about the mountain ash. Sophie and Benjamin don’t, though. And okay, you have a point. I have no idea when to tell them that their mother was murdered. It’s not an easy subject to tackle. But I still think you’ll feel better.”

“Maybe,” Chris says, and Peter decides he’ll take that as a victory.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Peter finds himself enjoying the school routine. At this point, it’s easy for him to get out of bed early. He gets Cora and Sophie ready to go for the day, and Chris picks them up at seven. Derek has decided against school. His art is coming along well, and he’s enjoying it, which is all Peter really cares about. He’ll have Derek get his GED someday, he supposes. It’s nothing that he needs to worry about for now.

Once the girls are gone, he takes Benjamin into Laura’s room and settles down to let him play. He reads out loud to Laura or puts on a television show for her to watch. Sometimes he’ll be in and out doing laundry or other chores.

Derek gets up mid-morning, and he’ll stay with Laura while Peter does any errands he needs to run. Benjamin loves going to the grocery store for some reason, so Peter usually brings him along. Sometimes they’ll make a trip to the art store or the library, and bring Derek and Laura along. Then it’s lunch time, after which Laura’s physical therapist comes over and spends an hour with her.

He picks Cora and Allison up from school at two fifteen, and then Sophie at two forty-five. Then it’s a jumble of the girls talking about what happened at school that day. He lets them loose to play in the backyard for an hour or two, then sits them down with their homework. He helps them out if they need it, or tend to his other chores.

At five, he starts dinner preparations, and Chris usually shows up around five thirty to help him finish up. After dinner, he gives Benjamin his bath while the girls finish up any homework they have, or play while Chris supervises. Once Benjamin is in bed, it’s Sophie’s turn. After that, Chris and Allison will sometimes leave, or sometimes they’ll stay and watch a movie.

On the weekends, they’ll go out for a hike or to the aquarium or any one of a dozen activities. If the weather’s bad, they stay at Peter’s house and do arts and crafts projects or make cookies.

It’s not a bad life, Peter supposes. If he never quite stops feeling the loss of his family, Chris is right in that some days are more painful than others.

The weeks coming up to Halloween are the worst he’s had in a while. Olivia had adored Halloween, had loved the decorating and the costumes and the candy. One of their first dates had been to a Halloween party with a costume contest. They had gone as Little Red Riding Hood and the wolf, and had taken second place. “I was so insulted,” Peter remembers, laughing and crying at the same time. “I was a real life werewolf taking second place at a costume contest.”

Everyone wants to go trick-or-treating in Peter’s neighborhood, since it’s the nicest. Sophie changes her mind about what she wants to be about a dozen times and finally settles on being a ballerina. Allison goes as Robin Hood, and Cora wants to be Belle from Beauty and the Beast. They’re joined by Stiles, who’s dressed up as a robot made out of cardboard boxes and tinfoil, and Scott, who’s a firefighter. Peter puts on his werewolf face, which absolutely awes the two boys, and Benjamin is toddling along in a little Ewok costume. Derek stays home to hand out candy to the people who come by.

After trick-or-treating, they all settle down with their enormous piles of candy and start sorting and swapping. It’s quite a process, Peter notes, amused. Benjamin’s face is covered with chocolate. Sophie is begging people to give her more Reese’s in exchange for her Starbursts. Scott and Allison are blushingly trying to give each other the last pack of Twizzlers, while Stiles insists on doing everything in his robot voice.

It’s late before everyone gets to bed, with Allison sleeping up in Cora and Sophie’s room. Peter comes downstairs, yawning, to see that Chris is looking through some DVDs. “Beetlejuice or The Addams Family?” he asks.

“Both,” Peter says, ignoring the fact that there’s no way he’ll stay awake that long. He flops onto the sofa and curls up against Chris’ shoulder. It’s not something he really thinks about doing; it just happens. He nestles his face into the crook of Chris’ neck and breathes in his scent, giving a content sigh. He feels Chris tense a little, but then relax, and Chris’ hand comes around and rubs up and down his spine. Peter closes his eyes and falls asleep within seconds.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Chris knows that he shouldn’t be so excited about the fact that Peter seems to have decided that he makes a perfectly acceptable pillow. It just feels so nice to have someone else near him, have another body tucked up against his. He’s half-afraid he’s going to get an awkward boner, but he doesn’t. Peter is sound asleep and probably wouldn’t notice even if he did.

When the movie ends, Chris thinks about waking him, but decides against it. He’s perfectly comfortable where he is, and although Peter might never admit it, he needs to get more sleep. So he just dozes off himself, letting Peter snooze against his shoulder.

The next morning, Peter doesn’t say anything about it. Chris wonders if he’s embarrassed, but he doesn’t seem to be. He vaguely remembers Talia saying something about how werewolves tend to be more physically affectionate with their friends than humans, and wonders if Peter is finally comfortable enough with him to show that side of himself.

With that in mind, he keeps acting normal, and Peter acts normal, and so really nothing changes. He’s okay with that. After a few days, he suggests another movie, curious (and hopeful?) if it will happen again. It does. Peter immediately curls up right against him and goes to sleep.

As the days go by, he notices that Peter is being more physically affectionate with him when he’s awake, too. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s doing it, but he’s started briefly leaning against Chris if they’re standing in the same place for more than a minute, or running his hand over Chris’ back or shoulders as he walks by.

Chris really wants to ask someone about it, but there’s really nobody he can talk to. The other adults he knows wouldn’t understand the werewolf angle, and he doesn’t know any werewolves outside the Hale pack.

He’s still mulling that over when he gets a call from Tom Stilinski, asking if he can stop by the station when he gets a minute. “Nothing serious,” he says. “There’s just a couple things I want to talk to you about.”

Chris is naturally intrigued by this, and stops by the next morning, after he drops the kids off at school. Tom is at his desk, and when he sees Chris, he gestures for him to follow. Frowning, Chris does so. They head out to Tom’s patrol car, and Chris gets in the passenger side. “What’s going on?”

“Well,” Tom says, his voice reserved, “I thought you might find it interesting that Sheriff Benson is retiring this year.”

Chris blinks. “He’s a little on the young side for retirement.”

“Mm hm,” Tom says.

It’s not hard to follow the logic from point A to point B. “I don’t suppose we have any official avenues to investigate what he might have gotten from the arsonist that led to this.”

“Officially, no,” Tom says. “But you seem to have done a few unofficial things in the past, and God knows Peter used to pull strings for a living. I would have gone straight to him, but . . . I wasn’t sure how he would react, to be honest, and I don’t want him in trouble. Not with the kids depending on him.”

“Yeah.” Chris doesn’t argue with that. It’s perfectly possible that Peter would decide to hold Benson upside down and shake him until answers fell out. “I might need his help, but I’ll be careful in how I break the news to him.”

Tom nods. “I was thinking I might run to replace him.”

“Yeah?” Chris smiles. “Well, you’ve got my vote.”

“Thanks,” Tom says, with a laugh. “If I get elected, I might be able to reopen the case into the fire. Not that I know if it would get us anywhere, especially since Peter already had somebody take a second look at the arson report.”

“Well, that did tell us something useful. Even if that guy couldn’t tell us how the fire _was_ started, he did say he thought a skilled chemist must have been involved. To have started a fire that would spread so fast, but not leave behind any chemical residue.”

“Maybe. Or maybe Meyers just didn’t do the right tests to detect it.” Tom shrugs. “One step at a time. I haven’t even decided to run yet. It’s a huge undertaking, and I don’t really have the money for it.”

Chris snorts. “Pretty sure you don’t need to worry about how to finance your campaign if you’re going to offer to reopen the investigation into the Hale fire. Peter’s got more than enough to cover it.”

“I guess. Well, maybe run it by him and see what he thinks.”

“I will.” Chris hesitates. “Hey, can I ask you a personal question?”

Tom looks a little surprised, since Chris isn’t normally the sort to talk about that sort of thing. “Sure.”

“You’ve been dating Melissa for a little while now, right? It’s all Scott and Stiles can talk about. Which, fair warning, they’re already fighting over who’s going to get the top bunk.”

Tom gives a snort at that. “They’re getting a little ahead of themselves, but yeah, Mel and I have gone out a few times.”

“So . . . how did you decide that you were ready to date again? After Claudia died?”

“Ah.” Tom grimaces a little. “It’s a hard question to answer, and I don’t know that my answer is going to be a lot of help. Because honestly, when I asked her out, it was spur of the moment. She was helping me out with a case, and she was just so beautiful and funny and smart, and I just blurted it out. I didn’t even really think about it until later. But, you know, I think I’m okay with it, and Stiles says he’s okay with it. I don’t want to get all cliché about it, but you do have to think about what the dead would want. I don’t think Claudia would want me to spend the rest of my life alone, just because she died.”

“That makes sense,” Chris says. “I guess it’s easier to think than to feel.”

“Yeah.” Tom shrugs. “This about Peter?”

“Oh, God, please tell me I’m not that obvious,” Chris says, wincing.

Tom laughs. “No, you’re not that obvious. I am a detective, you know.”

“So it would seem.” Chris pinches the bridge of his nose. “I like Peter. That’s not the problem. My wife died over eight years ago now. I’ve dated a few times since then, though I’ve never really found anyone I wanted to seriously pursue. The problem is . . . Peter’s still deeply in mourning for his wife. Which is fine, obviously. He doesn’t try to hide it. He talks about her a lot, still has days when I can tell she’s all he can think about. So I was one hundred percent okay with just . . . waiting, until he seemed to be okay moving on. I figured it might take years, and if I met somebody else in the interim I’d give dating a try again, but if not, I’d wait.”

“Okay,” Tom says. “But?”

“But lately he’s, um.” Chris feels a blush rise to his cheeks and curses himself. What is this, middle school? “He’s getting really touchy-feely with me. Cuddling with me on the sofa while we watch TV, or resting against my back while I’m doing stuff in the kitchen. And I’m not sure if he’s even aware he’s doing it. I don’t know if he’s trying to signal to me that he’s ready, or if he’s just self-comforting, or, or what.”

Tom gives him a skeptical look. “I am not the sort of person who knows about this shit.”

Chris sighs. “I know. Me neither. I guess I figured it was worth a try.”

At this, Tom rubs a hand over his hair. “Look, okay, here’s what I can tell you. I think you’re looking at it the wrong way. Because you’re thinking about what Peter is doing like he’s going to switch between loving Olivia and loving you, like you might switch what brand of toothpaste you use.”

“Well – ” Chris says, then sighs. “Maybe.”

“It doesn’t work like that. I still love Claudia, I still miss her every day. I can date Melissa and still miss Claudia. Because Melissa isn’t a replacement for my wife. She’s something new. Peter might be ready for something new with you, even while he mourns Olivia’s death. It might just be something physical or it might be something more than that. But it’s never going to be a replacement for what he had with her.”

“I know that, I just . . .” Chris sighs. “No, you’re right. I guess it just feels odd to me to be looking for a new relationship when you’re still not over your last one.”

“Sometimes a new relationship can help people heal,” Tom says. “I think it’s different for everyone. But you won’t know until you talk to him about it.”

“Okay. I mean, you’re right.” Chris grimaces a little. “I’m not good at talking to people about that sort of thing.”

“Not sure anybody is, to be honest.” Tom’s radio crackles, and he grabs it, having a brief exchange with the person on the other end before hanging up. “Duty calls. Let me know what Peter says about the sheriff’s election.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	10. Chapter 10

 

It takes Chris a couple weeks to psych himself up to the idea of talking to Peter about where their relationship might be going. It’s the day before Thanksgiving, and they’re going over the groceries that Peter had bought a few days before to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. “I definitely forgot something,” Peter is saying, laughing. He’s been in a better mood lately. Chris wonders if the physical affection is making him feel better. He could understand why it might, even without werewolf hierarchy coming into play. Although he’s made a few comments about how hard it is to plan a big family gathering without most of his family, he seems more melancholy than truly depressed.

“No, I actually think you got everything,” Chris says. “Strange but true.” He’s about to say something else when his phone rings. He glances down at the screen and grimaces before picking up. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, Chris!” Gerard’s voice is as jovial as always. “Remember how I was talking about coming to town for the holidays?”

“Yes . . .” Chris says guardedly.

“Well, I finished up a job early so I thought Kate and I would come by tomorrow!”

Chris nearly drops his phone. “I’m not really prepared for company,” he says, but he’s already aware that his father won’t be put off.

“We’re not company, we’re family!” Gerard says. “So your house might be a little messy. It won’t bother us.”

“I – ” Chris starts.

“We’re already on the way, so I won’t take no for an answer!” Gerard says. “I’ll see you tomorrow around eleven o’clock.”

He hangs up before Chris can reply. Peter glances over as Chris carefully sets down his phone and says, “I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Yeah,” Chris says. He takes several deep breaths and reminds himself that he can do this. It’ll be awkward and painful, but he can do it. “Where the hell am I going to get a turkey? I can’t bring over this behemoth and pretend I was going to cook it for two people, and I’ll never find one at the grocery the day before Thanksgiving.”

“So don’t make turkey,” Peter says with a shrug.

“If I don’t make a turkey, he’ll know I wasn’t planning to be home on Thanksgiving, and he’ll want to know where we were going to be and – ”

“Chris.” Peter takes Chris by the shoulders and turns him so they’re facing. “Take a deep breath and calm down. We’ll handle this. Okay?”

Chris realizes that he’s panicking, and tries to squelch it. “Okay. Right.”

Peter gives his shoulders a quick squeeze and then opens their refrigerator. He pokes around for a few moments and then pulls out a hunk of meat. “Okay, here’s the prime rib roast I was going to make on Saturday. It’s big, but you can cut it in half. Just tell him that Allison doesn’t like turkey. If he hasn’t seen her in five years, he won’t question that.”

Chris starts to breathe again. “Okay, but then what are you going to cook on Saturday?”

“The turkey, obviously,” Peter says, glancing over at Chris. “We’re not going to have Thanksgiving without you, just because your piece of shit father turned up uninvited.”

At this, Chris manages a smile. “Thanks.”

“Or we can have it Friday, if your father doesn’t stick around. We’ll just order Chinese food tomorrow. The kids won’t object, trust me.” Peter turns to the other side of the kitchen. “Do you have anything at your house you could make with the roast?”

“I’ve got plenty of vegetables, but not much in the way of starch. I mean, I could make some rice or pasta but that wouldn’t really go with the roast.”

“Mm.” Peter takes a bag of red potatoes out of his pantry. “Here, use these.”

“Thanks,” Chris says again. He sighs and says, “I’d better go. Not only is my house a disaster, but I’m going to have to talk to Allison before my dad shows up.”

“Okay.” Peter leans over and un-self-consciously rubs his cheek against Chris’ shoulder. Chris’ cheeks flame pink, but fortunately Peter doesn’t notice.

He leaves Peter in the kitchen and finds Allison reading in the living room. “Change of plans,” he says to her. “Turns out my dad and sister are coming into town tomorrow, so we’re going to eat with them, and then have Thanksgiving with the Hales on Friday or Saturday, depending on how long my family stays.”

“Oh.” Allison looks surprised, and a little confused, but she doesn’t argue. “Okay.”

As they drive home, he asks if she can help him out by cleaning the bathroom and the windows. Allison makes a face, clearly annoyed to be given chores on her supposed vacation, and he tells her that he’ll make pie for dessert tomorrow if she helps out. “If I have to do all the cleaning myself, I won’t have time,” he says.

Allison laughs at his transparent bribe, and says, “Okay, fine, geez.”

While she’s doing that, Chris picks up around the house, vacuums, and gives the kitchen a quick scrub. He’s rehearsing what he wants to say to Allison. He’s thought about it a lot over the past couple months, after talking to Peter about it the first time. He’s put it off and put it off and now he finally can’t put it off any longer.

So once the house work is done, he heads upstairs to Allison’s room, taking a few deep breaths as he heads inside. Allison is sprawled on her bed with a book, and looks up as he comes in. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says, and steps on the urge to ask what she’s reading, to delay the conversation they need to have. “I have a few things I need to tell you before my family gets here tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Allison says, oblivious. She puts her book aside and sits up, folding her legs underneath herself.

Chris sits down on the edge of the bed and reminds himself of what Peter had said. It’s okay if Allison doesn’t completely understand. He just has to be honest with her. “So I know it’s been a while since you’ve seen your grandfather,” he opens with, “and I want to explain why. Because . . . things tomorrow might not go very well, and I want you to be prepared for that.”

At this, Allison frowns. “You’re being weird, Dad.”

“I know.” Chris smiles a little at that. “I guess that’s partly because I’ve been putting off having this conversation with you for too long. So, you know that I hunt monsters for a living. So does my dad, and your aunt Kate. I was raised to fight monsters. My dad trained me for it from a very young age. He’s always been disappointed that I didn’t raise you the same way.”

“What sort of training?” Allison asks.

Chris doesn’t want to get into the gory details, but he does want her to understand why he made the decisions he made. “A lot of it was just athletics. But there was . . . endurance training, and tolerance to different kinds of . . . weather, and substances, for example.”

Allison fidgets. “That doesn’t sound very . . . nice,” she finally says.

“No. It wasn’t. I don’t want to lie to you, Allison. I did not have a happy childhood. And I wasn’t about to put you through the same sort of thing I went through.”

“Well, I definitely appreciate that!” Allison says, with a nervous laugh.

“What I also want you to understand is the sort of . . .” Chris lets out a breath, but he can’t avoid the word. “Indoctrination to certain ideas, that went along with this.” He sees Allison looking at him blankly. “You remember how you were talking in class about how racism is learned, not inherent? This is kind of like that. I grew up thinking werewolves were monsters. I had never met any. All I had to go on was what my father told me.”

Allison frowns. “But it’s not true, right?”

“No, it’s not. Don’t get me wrong, Allison – I still hunt monsters for a living because there _are_ terrible monsters out there. Wendigoes, ogres, darachs – someday I’ll teach you about all those things. And werewolves are different from humans. They have instincts and physical features that aren’t the same. But that doesn’t make them monsters. It makes it easier for them to hurt people, _if_ they want to – but they don’t do that any more often than regular humans do.”

“Okay,” Allison says, a little subdued.

“I didn’t realize that for a long time,” Chris says. “It was only after we moved here and I met Talia Hale that I started to learn about it. And it took me a long time to break out of that way of thinking, but the friendship we’ve built with Hales proves that werewolves are completely able to be good people. Right?”

“Right,” Allison says. “But Grandpa doesn’t believe that?”

Chris is silent for a minute before he finally says, “I don’t know what my father believes, not really. Sometimes I think he was indoctrinated by his own parents, just like I was by him. But sometimes I believe . . . something else. Which brings me to the first thing I want to tell you about tomorrow. Your grandfather would be very, very upset if he found out that we were close with a werewolf pack. So please don’t talk about the Hales. You can mention Cora as a friend from school if you want, but . . .”

“Who cares if he gets upset?” Allison asks, her eyes flashing with righteous indignation. “He sounds like a jerk.”

Chris’ lips twitch in a smile. “Well, he could make our lives pretty difficult, if he wanted to.”

“Could he?” Allison seems dubious. “I mean, what could he actually do?”

Chris stops and thinks about how to answer this. He doesn’t want to scare Allison, but he doesn’t want to lie to her, either. And to be honest, he’s not even sure what the truth would be. He’s not sure how much of his overwhelming need to keep Gerard away from this is based in reality, or only his own head. “Can I tell you a secret, Allison?”

“Sure,” Allison says.

“I know that kids your age think of adults like we’re some sort of separate breed of person,” he says, and she laughs. “But we’re not as different from kids as you might think. And sometimes, the things we’re afraid of as kids stick with us, even as adults. I don’t know what my father could do, Ally. But I know that I don’t want him upset with me.”

Allison listens to that in silence, then rests her head against her father’s shoulder and says, simply, “Okay.”

Chris puts an arm around her shoulder and hugs her for a minute. “Thanks, sweetheart. And believe it or not, that was the easy part of the conversation.”

“Oh, geez,” Allison says, pulling away when Chris’ grip loosens.

“It’s about your mother,” Chris says, and he sees Allison’s back go stiff. “I know that I’ve always told you she died in an accident, but that’s not true.”

Allison’s mouth sags open. “You – you lied about _that_? You – ”

“Please let me finish,” Chris says, and Allison’s jaw tightens. “Your mother was a hunter, just like I am. And when you were very young, she was bitten by an alpha werewolf.” He swallows the lump in his throat. “She knew she was going to turn, and she . . . couldn’t bear the idea of living as a werewolf. She had been raised the same way I had, she thought that werewolves were just mindless monsters. She chose to die rather than become one.”

“She . . . chose to die?” Allison says, her voice thin and strained. “Does that mean she killed herself?”

Chris nods. “Yes.”

“She killed herself rather than be a werewolf?”

“Yes,” Chris says again, and lets out a breath. “And for a long time, I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know how I could make you understand why she did what she did. It’s Peter who made me realize that you don’t have to understand. That I can admit to you that I don’t understand. That I loved your mother, but I’m not okay with the way she died. I never have been.”

“Well, yeah!” Allison exclaims. She gets off the bed and paces back and forth. “How could she do that? How could she just _leave us_ like that? Couldn’t she have at least _tried_? I mean, okay, yes, I know that werewolves aren’t bad, and she didn’t know that, but she could have . . .”

Chris folds his hands in his lap, lacing his fingers together. “I tried to talk her out of it,” he says. “God, I tried so hard, Allison. I promised her that I would take care of her, that I would lock her up on full moons and make sure she never hurt anybody. But she wouldn’t risk it.”

“I can’t believe she would have . . .” Allison hastily wipes some tears off her cheeks. “But what am I talking about? I didn’t know her. I barely remember her.”

Chris stands up and draws Allison into an embrace. “Your mother was an amazing woman, Allison. She was smart and strong, and she was proud and stubborn and determined. She was resolute in her beliefs, and I have no doubt that she died believing what she did was right.”

Allison sniffles a little, then pulls away. She looks at her father with dawning understanding. “It . . . changed things for you, didn’t it.”

“Yeah.” Chris rubs a hand over his head. “It was hard for me to believe that leaving us was the right thing to do. I kept thinking there had to be some other way. Your mother’s death was a tragedy, and I still miss her. But ultimately, it’s what led to me breaking away from my father and his way of thinking.”

After a few moments, Allison sits back down. She seems to be turning all this over in her head. Chris sits down next to her, letting her have time.

“I can’t say I’m glad she did it,” Allison finally says, “but I’m glad you got away from him.”

“Me too,” Chris says. “And I’m glad that it put me in a place where I could help the Hales, when they needed somebody.”

Allison smiles a little at this. “Yeah, me too.”

He reaches out and gives her another hug, which she returns.

“What’s going to happen tomorrow?” she finally asks.

Chris lets out a breath. “My father is going to say a lot about how I’m not training you. He’s going to try to pressure you into agreeing to be a hunter, and he’s going to say it’s what your mother would have wanted.” He sees that flash of anger on Allison’s face again. “He’s going to say you’re disappointing her, and that I am, too. In short, he’s going to be cruel and harsh, and he has a way of . . . masking it with humor. Sometimes you don’t realize how hurtful he was being until later.”

“I guess you don’t want me to yell at him about how he’s a bigoted old jerk,” Allison grumbles.

“No. That’ll only make him more determined. Nod and be polite and agree with me when I say I’ll probably start training you in a couple years. Tell him you’re looking forward to it and you want to make your mother proud.”

“Barf,” Allison says.

Chris laughs despite himself. “Just aim for him if you do, please.”

Allison giggles at that. “Okay. Hey, what about Aunt Kate? You’ve barely mentioned at her.”

“Kate was raised the same way I was, but she never wanted to get away from him. After your mother died, I talked with Kate a lot about what she had done, and Kate was always adamant she had done the right thing.” Chris sighs. “Even after I came here and started meeting werewolves, I wasn’t able to convince her.” He sees Allison’s face and says, “Try not to judge Kate too harshly, okay? We always competed for my father’s approval. She believes that the way he raised us was necessary, maybe because it would hurt too much to believe that it wasn’t. Maybe someday I’ll be able to help Kate get away from him, but it’d be a bad idea to try to do it right under his nose.”

“Fine,” Allison says, heaving a sigh. “I’ll be good.”

Chris leans over and presses a kiss against the crown of her head. “Thank you, sweetheart. I want you to know that I’m really proud of you. No matter what my father says, never think that you are a disappointment to _anybody_.”

“Ugh, Dad,” Allison says, flushing pink but clearly happy.

“Right, okay, that’s quite enough of that. Want to come help me make the pie?”

“Yeah! I’ll lick the beaters.”

“That’s not helping,” Chris says, laughing.

“Sure it is!” Allison bounces off the bed and ducks her father’s grasp, heading down the stairs.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Peter is somewhat preoccupied as he watches the kids demolish their dinner. He keeps thinking about how Chris had looked as he left, how he had honestly come close to panic at the idea of his father being in town.

Peter’s no fool, and he knows enough about Gerard Argent that he had been sure that Chris’ childhood had been awful even before he’d heard the story about hunter training. But apparently he hadn’t realized just _how_ awful. Chris wasn’t the sort of person who got scared easily. The fact that he was this afraid of having a single meal with his father – well, Peter is wondering if he should take some preemptive measures to make sure Gerard never came back to Beacon Hills.

That’s what he’s thinking about as he dishes up some cauliflower for himself and cuts a pork chop into small pieces for Benjamin. Then, out of nowhere, Cora says, “So is Chris your mate now?”

Peter practically chokes on a piece of bread. “Where on earth did you get that idea?”

Cora gives him a blank look. “’Cause you started scent-marking him.”

“I . . . I’ve been doing what now?” Peter asks, and is aware that all the kids, even Sophie, are looking at him like he’s an idiot. He thinks back. He’s been aware on some dim level that he’s been more physically affectionate with Chris than before. It hasn’t seemed to bother Chris, so he hadn’t worried about it.

When Peter doesn’t say anything else, Derek clears his throat and says, “You’ve been doing it for a few weeks now.”

“I see,” Peter says, because he can’t think of a better response. “Well, that. That’s interesting. But to answer your question, Cora, no, Chris is not my mate now. I think I would have to talk to him about it before I decided that.”

“Does he realize what being marked like that means?” Cora asks, sounding skeptical.

Peter hopes not. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Oh. Okay.” Curiosity assuaged, Cora goes back to her dinner. Sophie starts chattering about how she hopes Santa comes early, which Peter has been trying to explain to her won’t happen. Derek asks if Peter will start giving him driving lessons, since he turns sixteen on Christmas. Peter says he’ll think about it.

After dinner, once the dishes are done and the kids are settled down with a movie, he takes Benjamin upstairs for his bath and a story. Benjamin is playing with his toy boats when there’s a quiet knock and Derek pokes his head in. “Everything okay?” Peter asks.

“Yeah. Cora’s watching Sophie for a minute.” Derek sits down on the closed toilet. He seems to hem and haw for a few moments before he says, “I don’t like the idea of Chris being your mate.”

Peter gives him a sideways glance. “Well, it’s really none of your business, but would you care to explain why?”

“He’s a hunter,” Derek says. “He’s from a, a family of killers.”

“That’s true,” Peter says. “But I don’t think it’s fair to hold his family against him. Especially when he clearly tries so hard to maintain distance between himself and them.”

Derek folds his arms over his stomach and hunches inwards slightly, a defensive posture that Peter realizes he had stopped seeing from his nephew a few months ago. “He’s afraid that they’re going to find out he’s in our pack . . . and he’s right. Him being here is dangerous, for, for all of us.”

Peter sighs. “You’re not wrong, you know. But after everything Chris has done for us – ”

Derek’s jaw tightens mulishly. “So he taught you how to cook and drives the girls to school. That’s not worth – ”

“He helped me find Cora,” Peter points out. “I don’t know that I could have done it without him, and certainly not so quickly. He’s kept me sane, uphill battle though it probably was. And although we haven’t talked about it, I’m sure he’s kept other hunters off our backs. You know it’s likely that a lot of hunters probably figured whoever killed the others had a reason. That we, the remaining pack members, might be dangerous. Chris has helped keep us safe. So I’m going to do the same to him.”

“He’s not the one in danger,” Derek snaps.

Peter gives his nephew a somewhat disappointed look. “Do you really believe that, after seeing the way he left here today?”

“No,” Derek mutters.

“All right, then.” Peter turns to Benjamin and says, “Okay, buddy, let’s get you out of the tub.” As he dries Benjamin off, he says to Derek, “I don’t know if Chris is my mate. I don’t know if I even want him to be or not. But he is my friend. He’s more than that, he’s pack. That means I’ll protect him, and his daughter. Even if it means some danger for the rest of us. If that upsets you, I’m sorry, but it’s not going to change.”

“He’s a hunter,” Derek spits out, tears starting down his cheeks. “Hunters killed our family and you want to protect one.”

Peter starts to reply, but Derek storms out of the room before he can. He sighs and scoops Benjamin up to bring him out to the changing table and put a diaper on. “Big bruvver mad,” Benjamin declares.

“Yes, he is,” Peter says, and then taps Benjamin’s nose. “But don’t you worry. Papa will take care of everything.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing Allison is quickly becoming my favorite part of this fic XD

 

As the doorbell rings, Chris is in the middle of reminding himself for the hundredth time that this is just one day of his life. He survived eighteen years under his father’s thumb, and then a good ten more trying to squirm free. He can survive one more day. He’ll just nod and look serious and try not to have an opinion on anything.

He swings the door open to reveal his father looking as spry as ever, and Kate, who greets him with a hug. “Long time, no see!” she says, and he hugs her back, feeling a little awkward about it. He ushers them inside and takes their jackets. “This can’t be Allison, can it?” Kate asks, seeing her coming down the stairs. “You’re almost as tall as I am now!”

“And still growing,” Chris says, smiling fondly at his daughter.

“You’re not allowed to get taller than me,” Kate teases her, as Allison gives her a hug. “Whatever’s cooking smells great, Chris.”

“Thanks,” Chris says. “It’s a rib roast. Allison’s not much for turkey. Should be done in about twenty minutes.”

“Great!” Kate replies.

“Drinks?” Chris looks over at his father, who still hasn’t said anything beyond hello. “Dad, want a beer?”

“Sure,” Gerard says. Chris heads into the kitchen and gets a beer for each of them. Kate cracks hers open like a pro. She’s always been more of a drinker than he has. “So, Allison, how’s school going?” Gerard asks his granddaughter.

“Good!” Allison says. “History is my favorite subject. And next year I get to start taking French.”

“Of course,” Gerard says. “Chris, how’s your French? I remember you being pretty much fluent by the time you were Allison’s age.”

“It’s a little rusty,” Chris says, since he’s pretty sure saying ‘va t’en foutre’ wouldn’t get him anywhere he wanted to be.

Gerard’s smile doesn’t falter. “Well, school is important, so I’m glad you enjoy it,” he says to Allison. “If you like history, I should tell you about our family history!”

Chris can barely keep from rolling his eyes, but in the grand scheme of things, Gerard bragging about the exciting story of how Marie-Jeanne Valet killed the Beast of Gevaudan is positively benign. Allison listens with interest as Gerard talks about their ancestor, the first werewolf hunter. When he winds down, she says, “Huh. That’s neat, Grandpa.”

It takes effort for Chris to choke back a laugh at the look on his father’s face. “Why don’t you go set the table, honey?” he says, before Gerard can start spewing outrage everywhere.

“Okay,” Allison says, and heads to do so.

Gerard slowly shakes his head as she leaves the room. “If she actually saw a werewolf, she’d wet herself and pass out.”

“She has seen werewolves,” Chris replies. “More than one. Even an alpha. Anything else?”

Kate’s eyebrows go up. “When did you kill an alpha?”

“I never said I did. I said she’d seen one.” Chris takes a swig of his beer. He’s not going into the details of his friendship with the Hale pack, but he _does_ want to make it clear that he’s not their enemy. “We went to the memorial service for the Hales, to pay our respects. Peter Hale was there. He’s their new alpha.”

“Mm hm,” Gerard says. “Well, I hope you’re keeping an eye on him. Be easy for a man in his position to go off the rails – let alone a werewolf.”

Chris just nods. “I’ve been keeping tabs on him.”

“Good,” Gerard says.

There’s a quiet beeping, and Chris glances over to see that the roast has reached the right temperature. “Let me get this out of there,” he says, shooing Kate out of the way so he can get the roast out of the oven. “It’ll need to sit for five minutes and then we can eat. You two want water with dinner, or something else? There’s iced tea.”

“I’ll just drink water,” Gerard says.

“Beer me,” Kate says, winking at her brother. Chris opens the refrigerator and gets her another beer. He’s busy for the next few minutes, getting the food on the table, keeping half an ear out for his family. Kate has started asking Allison about her social life, and Allison is saying that most boys are gross, but, well, there is _one_ boy . . . so of course Kate has to hear all about that.

Gerard is surprisingly, and suspiciously, quiet throughout dinner. Kate is her usual vivacious self, talking about a couple hunts she’s been on recently and how nice the weather is in Phoenix this time of year. She encourages Chris and Allison to come visit, and he makes noncommittal noises.

Once they’ve cleared their plates, Gerard smiles at Allison and says, “So, I hear you like gymnastics.”

“I do!” Allison says. “Especially the uneven bars. Those are my favorite routines.”

“Well, it’s good training for strength and flexibility,” Gerard says, “but still isn’t the kind of training you really need, if you’re going to be a great hunter like your dad.”

Allison smiles brightly and says, “That’s okay! I want to be an explorer. Did you know we’ve explored less than five percent of the earth’s oceans? And there are islands in Indonesia that nobody has ever set foot on. There’s a park in Madagascar where the rocks are so sharp it’s really hard to get in, and every time there’s an expedition there, they find new species! I was reading about it the other day. I can’t remember the name, but it’s really cool!”

“Tsingy de Bemaraha,”Chris supplies, amused despite the fact that Allison is doing pretty much the exact opposite of what he had asked her to do.

“Plus I want to climb mountains,” Allison says. “We went up to Mount Shasta this summer and okay, I’m not experienced enough to actually summit it yet, but we did hike some of the trails and it was really awesome. Dad says this next summer we can go up to Mount Rainier and I’m super excited.”

“Your enthusiasm is commendable,” Gerard says, looking like he bit down on a lemon, “but as a career choice goes, don’t you think that’s a little selfish of you?”

Allison looks at him blankly, and Chris puts his hands in his lap so Gerard won’t see his fists curl. “Selfish?”

“Hunting is important, Allison! Weren’t you listening to the story about Marie-Jeanne? We do it to save lives, to protect innocent people. You’re going to throw that away so you can climb mountains?”

Allison’s nose wrinkles. “That’s like saying every person with the intelligence to become a doctor who becomes something else instead is selfish. It’s my life. I should be able to do whatever I want with it.”

Gerard shakes his head, looking solemn. To Chris, he says, “See, this is exactly what I warned you would happen if you didn’t raise her right.”

“Besides,” Allison says loudly, “exploration is important, too. Like, did you know they’re making gloves and stuff patterned off shark skin, because the texture keeps germs from sticking to it? And they develop medicine from different animals, like, the original blood pressure medication was made from snake venom.”

Kate is laughing. “Sure can’t say she doesn’t know her stuff.”

“She reads a lot, this one,” Chris says, looking at Allison fondly.

“So you’re encouraging this?” Gerard asks.

Chris doesn’t rise to his baiting, and merely replies, “I think Allison should be whatever she wants to be.”

Gerard’s mouth tightens again, and he gives his head another slow shake. “I can’t even imagine how disappointed Victoria would be.”

Chris doesn’t reply. Allison’s mouth sags slightly, and then she looks at her father and says, “Wow. He actually said it. I mean, he _actually said it_. I know you told me he would, but I was like, ‘Dad’s probably overreacting, nobody can be that much of a jerk – ’”

Kate gives a snort of laughter as Gerard’s eyes narrow. Chris just reaches out and squeezes Allison’s shoulder, interrupting her sentence to say, “Who wants dessert?”

“Can I have mine in my room?” Allison asks.

“Sure,” Chris says.

“We’re not done with this topic,” Gerard says.

“She’s done,” Chris says. “Any other problems you have, you can discuss with me.” He looks at Allison and says, “You’re excused, honey. Take a piece of pie with you, just bring your plate down later.”

“Okay!” Allison bounces out of her chair and into the kitchen. There’s the noise of her moving around while Gerard and Chris have a staring contest. Kate rolls her eyes at them and excuses herself to the restroom. Once Chris hears Allison’s feet on the stairs, he gets up and retrieves the pie from the kitchen, along with three smaller plates.

“Chris,” Gerard finally says, “you know damned well that this is unacceptable.”

“Let me tell you what is and isn’t acceptable,” Chris says, slamming down the plates. “Unacceptable is you calling a twelve-year-old selfish because she wants to explore Madagascar when she grows up. Unacceptable is you telling my daughter that her mother would be disappointed in her for having dreams of a happy life. Unacceptable is you using the memory of her mother who killed herself to try to get her to do what you want.”

“Which part of what I said was incorrect?” Gerard asks. “Do you honestly think Victoria would have been happy about this?”

Chris’ voice tightens. “I think my wife gave up the opportunity to have an opinion when she killed herself.”

“She killed herself because she trusted you to do right by her daughter!” Gerard shouts. “Is this how you’re going to answer that?”

“I’ve kept Allison safe and healthy,” Chris replies. “She’s a happy kid with big dreams. You’re the one who wants her to be a world-class hunter. Not my dead wife, and certainly not me. As she gets older, I’ve been telling her more about hunting. If she wants to do it, I’ll train her. But I won’t allow anyone to make that decision for her – especially not by indoctrinating her when she’s too young to realize that’s what’s happening.”

“That sounds like an accusation,” Gerard says, narrowing his eyes.

“Interpret it however you want,” Chris replies.

“Nobody ‘indoctrinated’ you,” Gerard says.

Chris says nothing.

“I know you’re upset about Victoria’s death, but she made the choice she had to make,” Gerard says. “It’s been eight years and you still can’t see that.”

“No, I can’t,” Chris says. “I doubt I ever will.”

Gerard shakes his head. As Kate comes back into the room, he says, “We’re leaving.”

“Before dessert?” Kate asks jokingly. When she sees the look on her father’s face, she raises her hands in surrender. “Sure, fine.” To Chris, she adds, “Don’t be a stranger,” before following Gerard out of the room. Chris follows them, handing them their jackets and staying silent as they leave. He locks the door behind him.

“Allison, honey?” he calls out. “They’re gone, you can come downstairs if you want.”

There’s a thump, and then Allison immediately jogs down the stairs. “I can’t believe he actually said that!”

“I can,” Chris says. “Here, help me with the dishes, okay?”

“Okay.” Allison starts clearing the table.

Chris gets his phone out and sends a quick text over to Peter. ‘They left, so we can do the turkey tomorrow if you want.’

‘Sure,’ Peter replies a few moments later. ‘How’d it go?’

‘About as well as expected.’

‘That bad, huh?’

‘You have no idea. But I can tell you about it tomorrow.’ Chris tucks his phone away and helps Allison finish up in the kitchen. “Want to watch a movie? It’s officially acceptable to watch Christmas movies now.”

“Yeah! I wanna watch Elf.”

“Okay. Go put it on, I’m going to dish myself up some pie.”

A few minutes later, he’s sitting on the sofa, and Allison curls up next to him. “Hey, Dad?” she says, as he skips past the numerous previews and ads on the DVD. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure,” Chris says. “You can tell me anything.”

“Sometimes the girls at school talk about how awful it is that I don’t have a mother,” Allison says. “Like, they want to know who buys me clothes and who I can talk to about boys and when I told them you had to explain periods to me, they just about died. And sometimes I feel like they’re right, and I really wish I had a mom. But most of the time, I feel like I don’t really need a mom, because I have you, and you’re such a good dad that not having a mom doesn’t matter.”

Chris feels suspicious moisture in his eyes, and he has to clear his throat. “Well, that. That’s really sweet of you, Allison.”

“I know that your dad said more awful stuff after I went upstairs, about how Mom would be disappointed and stuff,” Allison continues. “But you’ve never disappointed me. And knowing about how hard you fought against him to keep me safe, how you did the best you could after Mom left us, not just to take care of me but to learn about werewolves and stuff . . . I’m really proud of you. I think you’re amazing.”

Now Chris has to surreptitiously wipe his eyes. “Thanks, sweetheart. I can’t tell you how much better that makes me feel.”

Allison puts her arms around his neck and gives him a tight hug. He holds her until long past when the movie has started.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Chris gives Peter a brief description of what had happened with his father, but he doesn’t go into detail and Peter doesn’t ask for any. They cook the turkey and eat an enormous meal, and everyone has a relatively good time. Derek and Cora do the dishes and Peter puts a movie on for the kids, curling up against Chris’ shoulder with a content sigh.

That reminds Chris that he had meant to talk to Peter about the whole ‘casual touching’ thing. But he’s not about to bring it up now. He doesn’t want to admit how much his father’s visit has shaken him, even though he’s fairly sure that Peter knows.

Much later that night, after the kids are in bed and Derek is holed up in his room, Peter pours them both a mug of apple cider. “You know, we should really get a foldaway bed or something for you. You sleep here so often, and that couch can’t be comfortable.”

“Actually, it’s not too bad,” Chris says. “I’ve definitely slept in worse places.”

“That’s not really the point,” Peter says, amused.

“I guess not.” Chris takes a sip of the cider and savors it. He remembers when his mother used to make apple cider for the holidays, a long time ago. He hasn’t bothered since Victoria died, but Peter has a similar recipe and has apparently decided to make it on his own. “Couple things I meant to talk to you about, before my dad showed up and derailed me.”

“Oh?” Peter’s shoulders stiffen. It’s slight, but there.

“Tom called me up the other day,” Chris says, and sees Peter relax. “Apparently, Sheriff Benson is retiring.”

“I see,” Peter says, immediately picking up on why this is relevant. “That’s fascinating.”

“Now, I don’t think we can go shake him down the way I tried to do to Meyers,” Chris says, “but I was thinking you might have some way of getting information on him that’s a little less conspicuous.”

“I’ll have six private investigators on it by morning,” Peter says, picking up his phone. Then he sets it down and says, “Well, maybe not. It is the day after Thanksgiving. I should probably wait until Monday. But if Benson’s smart, he’s going to get the hell out of Beacon Hills before he spent any of the money he must have gotten for shutting down the investigation.”

“Yeah.” Chris sighs. “It might be a dead end, or it might not. But the other thing I wanted to mention is that Tom is talking about running for his replacement. He said if he did, he would be able to reopen the investigation into the fire.”

Peter nods. “I’m not sure how much good it would do, but . . . you said he’s thinking about it? He hasn’t decided yet?”

“He seems worried about how much money it’d take to get elected.”

With a snort, Peter says, “God, we really do live in an oligarchy. It’s disgusting. But I see what you’re getting at, and not only am I perfectly willing and able to finance his campaign run, I can help beyond that. I know a few people who have run campaigns in the past. One of Talia’s partners is on City Council, you know. So I’ll email the woman who managed her campaign and see if I can procure her services. It’s early enough, and an off-year election, so I doubt she’d already be spoken for.”

“Okay,” Chris says. “Sounds good.”

Peter drinks his cider slowly for a few moments before he says, “But if we’re going to do that, we have to tell Tom what really happened. About werewolves, the mountain ash line, et cetera.”

Chris frowns. “I hate getting civilians involved in this sort of thing.”

“Same. But if we want his investigation to be effective, we have to.” Peter sets his mug down. “Tom is a good cop. But without all the facts, he’ll just spin his wheels. He’ll investigate Talia’s partners or former clients who might have held a grudge. He’ll try to figure out whether or not anyone in the family had ties to any criminal elements. He’ll do all the right things and he’ll get exactly _nowhere_.”

“I can see that, but we can still give him information . . .”

Peter gives another snort. “Oh, yes, I’m sure that will work swimmingly. You’ll track down some hunters who were in the area at the time of the fire and ask Tom to pretty please get us their financial or phone records, and I’m sure Tom will do that without asking a single question about why we think they’re involved. Have you _met_ him?”

Chris grimaces. “Okay, I have to admit that you’ve got a point.”

“One thing at a time. Let’s get him elected first.” Peter sighs quietly and finishes his cider. “God. Is it horrible to say that I find myself not caring as much? That’s not really the right word, though. I still care every bit as much as I did the day it happened. I want to find whoever did this and break every bone in their body. But it doesn’t . . . consume me, the way it used to.”

“I think that’s probably a good thing,” Chris says. “A healthy thing.”

“There’s just so much else going on, so many other things to focus on,” Peter says. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think about it and I feel guilty for not spending every minute of my time trying to find the monster who took my family from me. But what am I supposed to do? The kids need me. Even if I didn’t have the alpha instincts driving me on, that has to take precedence. I’m sure Talia and Olivia would agree.”

“They would,” Chris agrees.

Peter shakes his head a little, then yawns. “That’s enough of that, I think. Let’s go play some Assassin’s Creed like the responsible adults we are.”

Chris laughs and agrees. He thinks about bringing up the casual touching and their relationship and all those things, but decides against it. Things are good the way they are. He doesn’t want to change that, so he’ll leave well enough alone.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Peter is somewhat surprised to feel his phone vibrate against his hip, since it’s ten thirty at night and he’s long ago put the kids to bed and settled down for the evening. He sees Chris’ number on the screen and frowns, picking it up with, “Hey, Chris, everything okay?”

“Hi, um, it’s me, Allison,” she says. “I’m sorry to call so late . . .”

“It’s okay, Allison. What’s wrong?”

“So, my dad was out on a hunt yesterday night,” she says, all in a rush, “and his leg got injured. He said it was fine and I shouldn’t worry, but he didn’t really look very good today? And he still said he was fine but I got up to get some water just now and heard him talking to somebody, so I peeked into his room, which maybe I shouldn’t have done, but anyway no one was there and he was just talking in his sleep. But he’s got a really high fever and he didn’t really wake up when I shook him.”

“I’ll be right over,” Peter says, already getting his shoes on. “You did just the right thing calling me. Hold tight.” He jogs over to Derek’s door and gives it a quick knock. He’s still up, curled up in the corner and sketching. “Hey, I have to go over to Chris’ for a bit. Allison called, he’s sick with a high fever, sounds like he might have an infected wound. I’ll be back soon. Keep the doors locked and call me if you hear anything out of the ordinary.”

“Okay,” Derek says, looking a little subdued.

Peter doesn’t really like leaving them, but from the way Allison described Chris, he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to wait until morning. Supernatural creatures with teeth and claws can result in all sorts of infections. Venom is possible, too, although less likely if the wound is twenty-four hours old now.

There’s not much traffic at this time of night, so it only takes him about fifteen minutes to get to the Argent house. He knocks on the door, and a few seconds later, Allison edges it open with the chain still on. “What’s the password?”

“Ugh, must you?” Peter says, but he knows that Chris has taught Allison this for a reason. “Fine. Yankees suck, all hail the Mets.” He holds up his hand to show that his fingers are crossed while he commits blasphemy. Allison giggles a little and undoes the chain, letting him in. He’s been to the Argent house before, but never upstairs, so he gestures to Allison and says, “Lead the way.”

Allison nods and trots up the stairs. Peter follows her. There’s only a little bit of light in Chris’ room, just an orange glow from the street light outside coming in around the edge of the blinds, but it’s more than enough for Peter to see. He can immediately see that Allison is right. Chris looks _bad_ ; he’s got sweat beaded on his forehead and his hands are clenching at the sheets like he’s in pain even unconscious. Only a loose sheet is tossed up over him, so Peter can’t see the wounds. “You said it was his leg?”

“Yeah,” Allison says, turning on a bedside lamp. Chris twitches slightly but doesn’t wake.

Peter kneels beside the bed and cautiously brushes a stray hair out of Chris’ face. He lurches upright, panting for breath and looking for a weapon, but his movements are slow and fumbling. “Chris,” Peter says. “It’s me. You’re safe.”

Chris slumps back against the pillows, shivering. Like Allison had said, he doesn’t really seem aware of his surroundings. Peter gives up on trying to talk to him and pulls the sheet off the bed. Chris is wearing only boxers, and his leg is wrapped up in loose gauze. Peter doesn’t even need to look at it to know it’s infected; he can _smell_ it from a few feet away. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, and then takes Chris’ face between his hands. “Chris. Look at me. Come on, focus.” He keeps his voice short and sharp, a drill sergeant’s voice that seems to get Chris’ attention. “You need treatment for your leg, so I have to know what wounded you.”

For a few moments, he’s worried that it’s hopeless. Chris just stares at him with glazed eyes, his breath coming in short, sharp pants. But then he grinds out, “Revenant.”

“Of fucking _course_ it was a revenant,” Peter mutters. “Okay. You just rest.” He stands up and takes his phone out, flipping through his contact list and calling Deaton. He hasn’t spoken to him since the fire, and he was always a friend more of Talia’s than of Peter’s, but he’ll know what to do and he’s closest. “Alan, hey, it’s Peter Hale. Listen, Chris Argent got his leg mauled by a revenant and he’s in bad shape. Can you get what he needs and meet me back at my place?”

“Sure,” Deaton says. “What’s the address?”

Peter gives it to him. Deaton says it’ll be about an hour, and Peter says that’s fine because it’ll take him at least half that to get Chris there anyway.

“What’s a revenant?” Allison asks, as Peter hangs up. Her eyes are wide with fear. “Is Dad going to be okay?”

“He’s going to be laid up for the next couple days, but yes, he’ll be fine.” Peter gives her a reassuring smile. “I’ll explain the rest on the way. Why don’t you go pack a bag with a couple changes of clothes so you can stay at our place?”

“Okay,” Allison says, nodding. She trots out of the room. Peter glances through Chris’ drawers quickly and grabs a few pairs of underwear and a T-shirt or two for the other man. Anything else he needs, he can borrow from Peter. Once Allison is back and he’s put those things in her bag, he gets his arm underneath Chris’ shoulders.

“Up you get,” he says, fending off Chris’ weak struggles with unnerving ease. “Come on. Help me out here, Chris.”

He manages to get Chris down the stairs and out to the car with some effort. He dumps him in the passenger seat and does his seat belt while Allison crawls into the back seat.

“So, revenants,” he says, pulling out of the Argents’ driveway, “are basically zombies.”

“Basically zombies?” Allison asks.

“Well, zombie is an overarching term for a number of different creatures,” Peter says. “Any creature who died and came back from the dead is a zombie. Technically, even a vampire is a kind of zombie. You might notice in popular culture that the behaviors and appearance of zombies can vary dramatically. Like, hm. I assume you’ve seen Dawn of the Dead – ”

“I’m twelve!” Allison says, scandalized.

Peter considers. “I suppose it would be somewhat inappropriate for you. But don’t tell me you’ve never watched an R-rated movie that you knew your father wouldn’t approve of.”

Allison flushes pink and says, with great dignity, “It’s possible I watched the new Mad Max movie but if I did it’s only because Tom Hardy is really cute.”

“Agreed,” Peter says, amused. “In any case, the classic zombie is your slow, shuffling, brainless heap of dead flesh. While movies would have you believe that zombies are reanimated by some sort of pathogen, in the real world it’s magic, always magic. A zombie is a dead body that has been animated by a mage.”

“Okay,” Allison says. “So what’s a revenant?”

“A revenant is a dead body that was reanimated within twenty-four hours of their death,” Peter says. “They’re faster, smarter, capable of learning. Much, much nastier creatures. They’re basically the hit men of the supernatural world. If someone really wants someone powerful – an alpha werewolf, for example, or one of the world’s preeminent hunters – dead, then a revenant is a great way to do it. They don’t get tired, they don’t need to eat, and the only way to kill them is total dismemberment and then burning the remains to a crisp.”

Allison frowns. “Why would my dad be fighting one?”

“Well, it’s his job to protect everyone in Beacon Hills and the surrounding area,” Peter says, “so if someone summoned up a revenant, he gets to stop it, even if he’s not the target.” Which Peter is not at all sure that he wasn’t. The fact that this had happened less than a week after Gerard’s temper tantrum over Thanksgiving was far too suspicious for Peter’s liking. But he’s not going to talk about that in front of Allison. “I’m sure it’s dead, Allison. Your father doesn’t leave a job half-done.” Whether or not Chris had caught the mage responsible is a different question. But again, not something he wants to talk about with Allison.

“Okay.” Allison relaxes. “How did it end up infected, though?”

“It’s actually very common for zombie or revenant wounds to get infected, regardless of how well it’s cleaned up afterwards,” Peter says. “Dead bodies are teeming with bacteria.”

“Ohh,” Allison says. She nods in understanding, and yawns.

Wanting to keep her calm and reassured, Peter starts telling her the story about the time a practitioner he knew had raised his parrot from the dead. The magic had kept it alive for quite some time, but it had had a morbid sense of humor afterwards. Allison listens to this tale and giggles occasionally, clearly wondering whether or not Peter is being serious.

They get back to the house in no time, and Peter lifts Chris up and carries him inside. “You go get some sleep,” he tells Allison. “The doctor will be here soon and he’ll know just what to do. Don’t worry about your dad.”

Allison yawns again and says, “Okay,” before taking her bag and disappearing into Cora’s room. Peter hefts Chris up the stairs and lays him down on his bed, then starts unwrapping the bandages. He winces at the raw wounds, numerous bite marks decorating Chris’ calf all the way from the knee to the ankle. They’re swollen and reddened, and Chris grunts in pain as Peter finishes unwinding the bandages. Peter rests his hand on Chris’ knee, draining away some of the pain. He can’t help the fever or the infection, but at least he can keep Chris comfortable. His body relaxes, and Peter goes downstairs to get what he’ll need to clean the injuries up.

Fortunately for Peter’s peace of mind, Deaton arrives less than twenty minutes later. He brings a jar full of greenish salve, a tin of herbs, and a bottle of pills. “First things first,” he says, unscrewing the lid on the bottle. “Antibiotics. See if you can wake him enough to take two of these.”

Peter nods and props Chris against his shoulder. He shakes him several times before he manages to rouse him well enough to swallow the pills with a few mouthfuls of water.

Once he’s lying down again, Deaton takes out the salve. “I’ll apply this if you’d like to make the tea,” he says, and Peter nods, accepting the tin of herbs. He goes down to the kitchen to boil some water.

When he comes back upstairs, Deaton is rewrapping Chris’ leg. He gestures to the salve and says, “The wounds need to be cleaned and have the salve reapplied every four hours. Eight ounces of the tea every two hours, starting as soon as it’s cool enough to drink. There’s enough here of both to last you forty-eight hours. He’ll need the antibiotics every night for a week. If he doesn’t show improvement in the morning, call me.”

“Understood,” Peter says. “Thanks for your help.”

Deaton gives his quiet smile. “You’re quite welcome, Peter.”

“Bill me,” Peter adds, and Deaton quirks an eyebrow at him. “No offense meant. I just prefer to keep my relationships professional.”

“I can see that,” Deaton says, giving Chris’ unconscious body a significant look.

“I said I preferred it,” Peter says. “Not that I always manage it.”

Deaton gives a snort of laughter. “Okay. I’ll bill you. Good night, Peter.”

“Good night.” Peter shows him out, then heads upstairs. He blows on the top of the tea and carefully tests it with his pinky before judging it safe to drink. He props Chris up against his shoulder and spoons it into his mouth. It takes effort; the hunter has fallen into a deep sleep. But he swallows automatically when he feels the tea in his mouth.

Peter sets his alarm for two hours, stretches out on the bed next to Chris, and falls right to sleep.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	12. Chapter 12

 

Chris wakes up slowly, by degrees of confusion. He’s warm and comfortable, and his leg throbs, but it no longer feels like it’s being eaten by fire ants from the inside out. He blinks at his surroundings, taking in the different pillow and the blanket and the person curled up next to him whose stubble is pressed up against his shoulder.

Memory returns in a flood, and he half-sits up, panicking. He sees, with relief, that he’s wearing clothes. So however he got here, he can’t have done anything too stupid.

“Go the fuck back to sleep, Argent,” Peter mutters into the pillow. “It’s not even dawn. I know that, because if it was, Benjamin would be shouting to get out of his crib.”

“How did I get here?” Chris asks. His voice is hoarse, but understandable.

“I came and picked you up, obviously.” At this, Peter opens his eyes. “Allison called me in a panic last night because your fever was so high that you were delirious and nonresponsive. Which, by the way, what the hell were you thinking? Trying to sleep off an infected revenant bite? Are you an idiot? Why didn’t you call me?”

Chris rubs a hand over the back of his neck and ventures, “Machismo?”

Peter pins him down with an unamused stare. “Try again.”

At this, Chris looks away, because he can tell that Peter isn’t joking around; Peter is actually furious with him. “I didn’t realize how bad it was. I had some stuff in my supplies; I thought I had it handled. I guess I was wrong.”

“That’s not why, though,” Peter says.

“I didn’t want you doing anything we’d both regret later.”

“Like murdering the shit out of the psychopath who raised you before he kills you to maintain the family legacy?”

Chris winces. “Yeah. Like that.”

Peter flops back down on the pillows. “It’s too early for this discussion. I’m going back to sleep.”

Chris lies down with him, because he doesn’t actually want to talk about it anyway. But he doesn’t fall asleep. They lay there in silence that feels increasingly angry for several minutes, and then Peter sits up again and shoves back the blankets. “Fuck this. I’m going to go take a shower. Don’t get up, you’re not supposed to be on that leg. If Benjamin starts crying to get up before I’m out of the shower, just shout to him that I’ll be there in a minute. And don’t be surprised if he climbs right out of his crib and comes into the room anyway.”

“Okay,” Chris says, wincing again. Peter climbs out of bed, and Chris can’t help but give his body an admiring look. Peter’s wearing only boxer briefs, and he’s lean and muscular and just gorgeous, with his stubble and his bed hair, even in his rage. He goes into the bathroom and a minute later, Chris hears the water running.

By the time he gets out of the shower, Benjamin has called out to him twice. Peter slams out of the bedroom without even looking at Chris, and for a while he can hear faint noise in the house but not much else. Then Allison bounces into the room and throws herself down next to him. “Dad! Peter says you’re feeling better.”

“I’m feeling much better,” Chris reassures her. “I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t realize I was going to get that sick, let alone that fast.”

Allison chews on her lower lip. “But you’re going to be okay, right?”

“I’m going to be fine. Go have breakfast, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, and leaves the room.

About twenty minutes pass before Peter comes back. He’s got a tray that has some oatmeal and a mug of tea. “Eat,” Peter snaps at him. “Then I have to change your bandages.”

Chris does as he’s told, not wanting to make Peter any more pissed than he already is. The alpha marches back out of the room, but he leaves the door open, so this time Chris can hear him corralling the kids and telling them to go play out back for a while. Chris glances at the window and sees that it’s sunny, so hopefully it’s not that cold. He doubts that Peter intends to leave them out there long.

By the time Peter comes back upstairs, Chris is finished with his oatmeal. There’s still a few mouthfuls of the tea, which he’s drunk sparingly because it’s very bitter. “Finish that,” Peter says, gesturing. “It’s a mixture from Deaton, to help lower your fever and alleviate the pain and swelling.”

“Oh.” Chris downs the last few swallows. At Peter’s instruction, he rolls over, wincing as he feels the bandages rub against his leg. Figuring that it’ll be easier to have the conversation when they don’t have to look at each other, he says, “Look, I get that you’re upset, but – ”

“No, you don’t get that,” Peter snaps. “You have no idea how upset I am, and I’m also willing to bet you don’t know _why_ I’m upset.”

“I’m sorry that I worried you. I just – ”

“You just what, Chris?” Peter cuts him off with a snarl. “You just didn’t think I could handle knowing what had happened, that’s what.”

“I knew you would jump to the conclusion that my father was responsible – ”

“Oh, there was no jumping required,” Peter retorts. “I didn’t even need to hop. I took a single step and arrived smack dab in the conclusions.”

Chris sighs. “Okay, I know it looks bad, but that’s why I didn’t tell you. We don’t have any way to prove he was involved. It’s just, just circumstantial. I didn’t want you to do anything you’d regret.”

“And that’s _exactly_ why I’m pissed at you,” Peter snarls. “Because _you_ decided it wasn’t safe for me to know. You assumed I would overreact and jump the gun, that I’m not smart enough or in control enough to understand why murdering your father in retaliation is a bad idea that will only result in more trouble. You kept that information from me because you didn’t trust me, and that’s because of _what I am_.”

There’s a long moment of silence while Chris takes that in.

“I honestly thought maybe you were different from the others, but no. You think I’m just an animal, like all the rest of them. You thought – ”

“I’m sorry,” Chris interrupts. “You’re right.”

“ – that I’m just – wait, what?”

“You’re right,” Chris repeats. “I didn’t think you could handle it, and yeah, I thought that because you’re a werewolf. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

Peter sits back down, then picks up the bandages and starts rewrapping Chris’ leg. “Well, all right, then. So what _are_ we going to do about this?”

“I don’t know that there’s much we can do,” Chris says. “Yeah, the timing is coincidental as hell. But I’m sure my dad would have people swearing he was a hundred miles away. And it’s not like my father could have summoned up a revenant himself. It’s not in his skill set. He could have bribed somebody, which would leave evidence, but knowing him, he threatened or extorted it done. He has mages that he lets off the hook for minor offenses – honestly, for existing – that he’ll coerce into doing magic for him.”

“Could we find them?”

“Once the revenant’s dead, there’s no way to track the magic back to the source,” Chris says. “And I wasn’t in any position to try to capture it. So unless another one turns up, no.”

Peter nods. “Don’t go on any hunts alone for a week or two.”

“I won’t, if I can avoid it,” Chris says, and Peter arches an eyebrow at him. “I can’t just call you. You have the kids to look after.”

“Derek’s gotten a lot better about me leaving him with them if it’s only for a few hours. It’s been long enough now that he’s not worried about the murderer coming back for the rest of us. If you go out on a hunt without me, I’ll kick your ass.”

Chris lets out a breath. “I hate the idea of you taking risks for me.”

“Are you some sort of idiot?” Peter asks. “Ugh, never mind. Of course you are.” His voice quiets slightly. “Don’t you know how lost I would be without you?”

“I do, I just . . .” Maybe that’s what scares him more than anything else. The idea of Peter depending on him. Whatever it is between them, it’s big and frightening and something he can’t control. “Maybe I feel like I don’t deserve it.”

“So . . . you’re an idiot,” Peter says with a snort. “All right, then, I’ll keep that in mind. Which brings me to my next point, which is yes, I _was_ very upset that you got hurt. You’re not allowed to do that again. You’re indestructible as of now. Alpha’s orders.”

Chris snorts. “Okay.”

“But I mean it, Chris – don’t go out on hunts by yourself. If you can’t find one of your own to back you up, call me.”

“Okay,” Chris says.

“Although it’s worth pointing out you won’t be doing any hunting for the next week or so. Deaton said to stay off the leg completely for forty-eight hours. He didn’t mention after that, but I’m guessing he’ll say no strenuous activity for at least a week. So you’re going to be stuck here watching movies and getting breakfast in bed.”

“Sounds horrible,” Chris says seriously.

Peter smirks at him and says, “I’ll try to make it good for you,” and while Chris is blushing and sputtering, he takes the tray and the mug and whisks his way out of the room.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Christmas is a big event. Aaron’s mother, Lucille, is in town to see her grandchildren. Tom gets called in to work the overnight Christmas Eve shift, and asks Peter if he would mind taking Stiles for the night. Normally he would send him over to Scott’s, but Melissa and Scott are out of town, visiting his grandparents. Sophie is running around shouting about Santa, while Benjamin toddles after her. Cora is wrapping Laura in garlands, and despite Peter telling her not to decorate her sister like a Christmas tree, he sees Laura smiling several times.

There’s about three inches of snow on the ground, so the children are playing outside most of the day. They order a ton of pizza and watch Arthur Christmas before putting the kids to bed. Derek is horrified to find out that Stiles is going to be sleeping in his room, on a little cot that Peter procured. “He’s going to talk _all night_ ,” he hisses at Peter. Peter pretends not to hear him.

“You can sleep up in my room,” Peter says to Chris, as they’re trying to shoo everyone up to bed.

“I figured I’d just sleep on the sofa,” Chris says.

“No!” Sophie shouts. “You’ll scare away Santa!”

Chris rubs a hand over his hair as Peter tries not to laugh. “Come on, Argent,” he says. “You slept in my bed after the revenant attacked you. I don’t think you’ll break out into hives. It’s a king-sized bed, you won’t even realize I’m there.”

“You said that last time and I woke up to you drooling on my shirt,” Chris points out.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Peter says loftily.

“Uh huh.” Chris looks after him with fond amusement, as Peter nabs Benjamin as he toddles by, lifting him up into a hug.

The two of them are up late, wrapping the last of the presents and arranging the deliveries from ‘Santa’. It’s about midnight when they finally get to bed – the younger kids are fast asleep but they can hear Stiles still chattering away in Derek’s room – and Peter starts on his side of the bed but quickly migrates. Chris wakes up with Peter wrapped around him like an octopus, but there’s no time for embarrassment because Sophie is already screaming about the fact that Santa came.

Chris makes breakfast while the kids tear through their presents from Santa. Once they’ve eaten, Tom arrives to pick up Stiles, and Peter invites him in to stay for a while. While they’re opening the rest of their presents, Chris’ phone rings. He glances down at it and sees Kate’s number. “Be right back,” he says, taking his phone into the little room that serves as Laura’s bedroom. “Hey, merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you, too!” Kate says with her usual cheer. “Did you get the box I sent?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Chris has carefully opened and rewrapped her gift for Allison to make sure it was appropriate, and it had turned out to be not the hunter gear he had anticipated, but a bunch of books on famous explorers. “She just opened it a little while ago and she really loved it.”

“Great! I’ve got a present for you, too.”

“Oh, yeah?” Chris tries to keep the suspicion out of his voice.

“Yup. Wanted to give you a heads’ up, Dad is talking about coming to Beacon Hills to snoop around next month. He’s heard you’re tarnishing the family name, et cetera, et cetera, blah-blah-bullshit-blah.”

Chris sighs. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“I’ve done you one better, big bro!” Kate says. “I told him to let me come check things out instead. You know, he hates snow, winter weather wreaks havoc on his knees even if he won’t admit it. So I said to him, you take over here in Phoenix for me for a couple months, and I’ll go up to California and kick some ass with Chris, make the family name all shiny again.”

Chris feels some of the tension leave his body. He’s not in love with the idea of Kate being in Beacon Hills, but it’s a damned sight better than their father. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

“Heard you tangled with a revenant a couple weeks ago.”

“Yeah. Killed it but never found the sorcerer.”

“Maybe if we’re lucky, he’ll give it another whirl while I’m there. This is gonna be awesome, Chris. Nobody kicks ass like the two of us.”

“That’s true,” Chris says, chuckling. “Hey, I’ve gotta go, Allison’s still got presents to open and she’ll be getting antsy. Call me when you have your travel plans, okay?”

“Sure,” Kate says. “Give her a kiss from me.”

“Will do. Thanks, Kate.” Chris hangs up the phone and goes back into the other room. He sees Peter give him a questioning look, and he gives a brief nod and smile to indicate that everything’s okay.

It’s a long day, but a good one. The kids all have new toys to play with. Derek had gotten art supplies from a lot of people and he’s already immersed in them. Peter had gotten Laura an iPod and loaded it up with audio books so she had something to listen to occasionally. He’s put one of them on for her now, and she’s curled up in the corner by the window.

When they’re getting dinner ready, Peter asks if everything is okay. “As okay as it ever is,” Chris says with a shrug. “Dad’s being Dad. Kate’s trying to be a buffer, which I appreciate. God knows whether or not it’ll work.”

“I saw that she got those books for Allison,” Peter says. “So at least she doesn’t think Allison should be forced into hunting.”

Chris shakes his head a little. “Don’t give Kate _too_ much credit. I guarantee you, she thinks it’s fine for Allison to have hobbies and dreams now, but only because she’s a kid. But it’s better than nothing, I guess.”

“Mm. Here, hand me that pot holder.”

They don’t talk about it the rest of the evening. The kids are full of chatter and even Derek is smiling more often than not. After dessert, Chris helps Allison gather up her presents and they carry them out to the car. “Have a good Christmas, sweetie?”

“Yeah!” she says, her cheeks aglow with excitement. “It was so nice to have a bunch of people around. Like a really big party.”

“It was,” Chris agrees.

Allison hums a Christmas carol for a few moments before saying, “Hey, Dad? Are you like . . . in love with Peter?”

Chris thinks about how to answer that, then says, “I guess it depends on how you define it. I care about him a lot. I like the little family we’ve built together. But he lost his wife, and I have to respect that. He might not want a romantic relationship any time soon, or ever. That’s something I can’t change.” He glances at her and says, “How do you feel about that?”

“I’m not sure,” Allison says. “I love the Hales. I would love to be their sister, for real. And I know you’re right about Peter and what he lost. I guess I just don’t like the thought of you being unhappy, waiting for something that might not ever happen.”

“That’s sweet of you,” Chris says, “but I’m not unhappy, Allison. I’m glad I have Peter as a friend. Even if it’s never more than that, that’s okay.”

Allison looks a little dubious, and says, “If you say so.”

Amused at her skepticism, Chris says, “I didn’t say I was leaping for joy. I said I wasn’t unhappy. Would I be happier if Peter returned my feelings? Most likely, yes. But I’m still not unhappy with the way things are. All I can do is give him some time and see what happens.”

“Okay.” Allison sighs. “Being an adult must be really hard.”

“Well, I’ll tell you a secret,” Chris says. “Most adults don’t actually know what we’re doing. We just muddle through, thinking all the other adults have it all figured out and we’re the only one confused. You just get good at some things, get enough practice at them to know how to handle them, that’s all.”

“I’m going to stay twelve forever,” Allison declares.

Chris chuckles. “That’s okay by me.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

It snows again on New Year’s Day, almost a foot of it. Chris and Allison are already at the Hale house when it starts, and it goes on into the evening with no signs of stopping, so they plan to stay the night. The kids all don their outer gear and go bombing out into the backyard. Derek chooses to stay inside, sitting with Laura, who watches them from the window at the back of the house.

Chris decides to make some cocoa, and brings some out to Peter while he’s standing on the back porch, watching the kids. His hair is starred with snow, and he looks a little distant. But he accepts the cocoa with thanks, sips it while the kids play. Chris sees that they’re almost done making their snowman, so he decides to let them finish before calling them in for the treat.

Peter stands and watches the snow fall, and he looks so pensive that Chris can’t help but ask, “You okay?”

“Hm? Oh, yes.” Peter doesn’t smile, but his mouth twitches a little. “Olivia loved snow.”

Chris nods. “Looks like the kids inherited that.”

“That they did,” Peter says, and now he does smile. “Good cocoa.”

“Thanks. Opening the canister took a lot of effort.”

Peter snorts. He shakes his head and takes another sip of the drink, then says, “You know, just now, I was thinking . . . there’s almost nothing in the universe that I wouldn’t give up, to bring my family back.”

“I know,” Chris says quietly.

“But the reason I was thinking that . . . was because I was thinking about how I was glad I had met you.” Peter puts the mug down on the snow-covered railing, half-turning towards him. “If I could change everything, I would. Go back in time and save my family. I would do it in a heartbeat. But I can’t. And if I have to live in a world without them, I’m glad that at least it’s a world with you.”

Chris smiles. “Thanks.”

Peter leans in and kisses him, soft and brief. Chris reaches up without thinking, cradling Peter’s face in his hands and kissing him back. They trade kisses back and forth for several long moments before they hear a whoop from the backyard. “Chris and Daddy, sittin’ in a tree!” Sophie squeals. Naturally, both Cora and Allison have to join in. “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

Chris is afraid that Peter will be upset, but he just laughs and says, “Well, we _were_ going to give you kids cocoa, but if you’d rather serenade us – ”

“Cocoa!” Benjamin and Sophie both cheer, nearly tripping over themselves in their excitement.

“Come on inside,” Peter says, still laughing. “Boots off! You know the rules – don’t go tracking snow into the house – ”

Things get noisy again, and they don’t talk about it. Peter gets each of the kids a mug of cocoa, and takes a couple in to Derek and Laura. Of course, as the evening ticks by, Chris is becoming uncomfortably aware that they’re going to _have_ to talk about it soon, because he’s been sleeping in Peter’s room the last few times he was there.

But first it’s bath time, and story time, and bed time, and the usual chaos of getting all the kids to sleep. Chris is carefully formatting words and sentences, organizing pros and cons of their relationship for the inevitable discussion, and then they’re in the bedroom and Peter strips his shirt over his head and Chris forgets the English language. “We, uh, we don’t have to, you know, it’s not – ”

“Chris,” Peter interrupts, “shut up and kiss me.”

Chris takes a deep breath and manages not to dive right in. “Look, I just want to make sure we’re on the same page. I don’t want to do anything either of us will regret.”

Peter sighs quietly. “I won’t, but okay. The page.” He looks Chris in the eye. “I don’t know that I love you. I don’t know if I’ll ever love anyone again, the way that I loved Olivia. But I like you a lot. And I really, really want to have sex with you. How’s that page?”

“I think that, yeah, that’s a good page for us to be on,” Chris manages.

Peter crosses the room and kisses him, and the kisses go from tentative and gentle to passionate and eager in the space of a heartbeat. Chris twines a hand in Peter’s hair and kisses him with everything he has in him. Peter’s hands hasten down the buttons of Chris’ shirt, pushing it back off his shoulders and tossing it aside. Then he twists them around and half-throws Chris in the direction of the bed. Chris controls his fall but still lands heavily, but he’s laughing as they kiss again, his hands stroking up and down Peter’s back and over his ass. Peter moans into the kiss and rolls his hips against Chris’, slow and deliberate. Then he rolls them over so he can get his hands underneath Chris’ T-shirt and strip it over his head.

Chris is fumbling at Peter’s belt buckle when he hears the door creak open, and he freezes. Moments later, Sophie’s voice says, “Daddy? I heard a noise. Are you and Chris fighting?”

Chris feels his face flush with embarrassment, but Peter just turns his head to one side, as cool as a cucumber, and says, “No, sweetheart, we’re not fighting. We’re playing the sex game, you know, the one Mommy and I used to play.”

“Oh!” The worry clears off Sophie’s face. “Okay.”

“Go back to bed now, darling,” Peter says.

“Okay!” Sophie says again. “G’night, Daddy. G’night, Chris.”

“Good night,” Peter tells her, and Chris manages to echo it weakly as she leaves the room and shuts the door.

“I can’t believe you just told your six-year-old daughter that we’re having sex!” he hisses, as soon as Sophie’s gone.

Peter rolls his eyes. “Oh, Lord, here we go with the Puritanical human values again,” he says, and Chris sits up, still fiercely embarrassed. Peter doesn’t bother, remaining reclined on the bed, lips swollen from the kissing and far more gorgeous than he has any right to be. “I don’t understand why people do that. For one thing, it’s not like she actually knows what sex _is_. We just told her it’s a fun game that adults play with each other, and that she’ll learn more about it when she gets older, but it requires privacy so if we’re playing she has to leave. Secondly, do people really think their children are stupid enough to believe that Mommy and Daddy are ‘wrestling’? And third and lastly, having sex isn’t something to be ashamed of, and I don’t want my children to grow up thinking that it is.”

Chris’ jaw tightens. “Maybe . . . maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

Now Peter looks faintly annoyed. “You knew I was a werewolf before you started taking my pants off, Chris. I don’t see why you’re suddenly having a problem with it now.”

“Maybe it was just a reminder of how different we are,” Chris says, resting his elbows on his knees. “This is a small thing, but what if there are other differences that aren’t so small?”

“What are you talking about?” Peter asks, exasperated. “You’ve practically been living here for months. I think you know about the way werewolves live by now. You know that it’s not going to cause problems.”

“Just . . . if anyone ever found out . . .”

“Ah, I see.” Peter’s voice has become sarcastic. “I’m not the sort of person you can take to prom, is that it? Are you embarrassed of being attracted to me? Or was that part of the fun for you, Argent? The forbidden fruit. Only now that the fruit is in your grasp, you’re having second thoughts.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Chris protests. “It’s just . . . how can we possibly manage this in the long-term? Kate might be able to keep my father off my back for now, but it won’t last forever. Sooner or later, he’s going to find out, and . . .”

“And what?” Peter asks. “He’s going to be furious with you for even talking to me, for exposing your daughter to our family and our way of life, for helping my family, for keeping us safe from other hunters. Do you _really_ think having sex with me is going to make things that much worse?”

Chris tries to reply to that, but can only manage to shake his head.

At this, Peter sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed so they’re sitting side-by-side. His voice is gentler. “I know there are things about you that I will never understand completely, just as there are things about me you’ll never understand. I know that I can’t comprehend what growing up with your father must have been like, and I know that even if your fear of him isn’t fully rational, it’s not fully _irrational_ , either. I know that he can hurt you, that he can hurt all of us. I’m willing to take the risk, but that’s because he’s not my father, because I wouldn’t blink twice at tearing out his throat if he truly became a threat. You’re the only one who can decide if you think this is worth it, Chris. All I can tell you is that I have your back, that I’ll protect you, no matter what you decide.”

Chris rubs both hands over his face, draws in and lets out a ragged breath. “Thanks.”

Peter lets his hand trail down Chris’ back, then says, “Come on. Lie back down.”

“Okay.” Chris does so, twining his legs through Peter’s, letting Peter curl up at his side. “God, you know, it’s horrible to say, but sometimes I’m glad Victoria killed herself. It really opened my eyes in a way that nothing else had been able to do. And I think of what could have happened, if my father had been more a part of Allison’s life . . . what kind of childhood she would have had. I know it wasn’t all roses for her, but at least it wasn’t like mine.”

“Mm hm,” Peter says, nestling against him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Chris says.

“Okay.”

“It’s just so damned stupid,” Chris says. “I’m almost forty. I have my own house and a twelve-year-old daughter and I am, by pretty much all standards, an adult. But I just hate the idea of disappointing him.”

“You shouldn’t,” Peter says. “Disappointing someone like Gerard is the best thing you could possibly do. And it’s honestly very impressive, you know.”

“Impressive how?”

“You really don’t know?” Peter half-sits up, propping himself up on his elbows, so he can look at Chris. Then he lies back down. “Think about it. A child who has two parents who give to charity, for example, is more likely to do the same as an adult. A child from a family of open-minded people is less likely to be racist or homophobic, et cetera. You, Chris Argent, are a fair-minded, compassionate, generous man . . . and you did that all by yourself. You had no examples to follow. All you knew is that you _didn’t_ want to be like your father. That makes you a better person than most, by far. After Victoria’s death, it would have been so easy for you to blame werewolves, to be hateful and prejudiced against them, but you were able to take a step back and really think about what had happened and why. I’m not sure I would have been able to do the same, in your shoes.”

“I don’t know.” Chris is a little pink, embarrassed by the praise. “It was always about Allison for me. Every decision I made, I just asked myself what sort of example I wanted to set for her.”

“Well, you did a damned good job.”

“Thanks. That . . . actually means a lot to me. Even if the me of ten years ago would look at where I am today and be horrified.”

“The you of ten years ago was a jackass,” Peter says, and Chris laughs. Peter gives a snort of laughter too, and they wind up leaning against each other, snickering uncontrollably. Chris tangles his hand in Peter’s hair and leans in for a kiss. Peter returns it with interest. A few moments later, he pulls away to catch his breath. “Sure you want to do this?”

“Yeah,” Chris says against his mouth, and kisses him again. “Very sure.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the people mad at Derek for not telling Peter about Kate, please go easy on him! He really wants to and I keep exercising author privilege and not letting him because it ruins my plot. It's not his fault, I swear. ^_^
> 
> Chapter is mildly NSFW.

Chris wakes up when he hears the door open and a little girl whispering. Peter is still snuggled into his side – he recalls Peter mumbling something about giving Chris the spooning of his life before falling asleep – and Chris is about to wake him when, quick as a flash, Peter is on his feet. He thuds back down to the bed with Sophie in his arms, and she’s giggling and shrieking as he tickles her.

“No fair, Daddy, no fair!” she protests, flailing.

“What’s fair, my little darling? You were about to sneak attack me,” Peter says, and she shrieks again as he renews his tickle offensive.

“Someday I’ll get you!” she declares, and Peter laughs, tweaking one of her curls. Benjamin is climbing up onto the bed, crawling into his father’s lap for cuddles. Sophie sees Chris’ eyes open and beams at him. “G’morning, Chris! Can we call you Papa now that you’re sleeping over?”

Chris flushes pink, and he looks askance at Peter, not wanting to overstep boundaries. Peter is similarly glancing at him, and responds to Sophie a moment later with, “You can call him Papa if you like, but it’s okay to still call him Chris, too.” He heaves himself up off the bed with both the children in his arms, a feat of strength that Chris can’t help but admire. “How about some French toast for breakfast?”

“Yeah!” Sophie and Benjamin both chorus. Chris shakes his head a little as they leave the room, and picks up his phone. He checks it briefly, then calls down the stairs that school has been cancelled due to the snow. There are muffled cheers from the room where Cora and Allison are sleeping.

About ten minutes later, they’re all gathered around the table, eating breakfast. Peter has made French toast and microwaved some pre-cooked bacon (a cheat he hates, but sometimes the kids just won’t wait for it to be made in the oven). “Can we go outside and play?” Sophie asks, her mouth still full with her last bite.

“Wait for the others to finish eating,” Peter tells her, and she pouts but obeys. Once the kids are all in their winter gear, they invade the great outdoors. Even Derek goes out this time, because Sophie begs him to be Godzilla and attack their snow fort so they can repel him with snowballs. Derek versus four younger children doesn’t exactly seem fair, so Peter joins in, occasionally darting in and picking up one of the kids, carrying them around before dropping them in a snow drift.

Once everyone is exhausted, Peter shepherds them inside. Chris has made sandwiches for lunch. Peter puts Benjamin down for his nap as Chris settles the kids onto the sofa for a movie. He’s a little surprised when Peter jogs down the stairs and instead of settling down with them, stands behind Chris and starts trailing his fingers through Chris’ hair and over his shoulders. Chris glances up at him, and Peter smirks, and Chris is suddenly struck with the immediate urge to grab Peter and kiss him breathless.

Peter can apparently tell, because he says to Derek, “Could you watch the kids for a little while?”

Derek looks between the two men and rolls his eyes before saying, “Yeah, sure.”

“Thanks.” Peter grabs Chris by the wrist and tugs him off the sofa, then up the stairs. Chris wants to protest, but then they’re in the bedroom and Peter is taking his clothes off and he forgets how to speak again. He’s really going to need to work on that.

Finally, he manages, “Are you sure we should – ”

“I am very sure,” Peter says, working on Chris’ belt.

“The kids might hear – ”

“Only if you plan to be noisy,” Peter says, stripping the rest of Chris’ clothes off and manhandling him over to the bed. “Don’t worry, tomorrow the kids will be back in school.”

“I can’t just come over during Benjamin’s nap time every day,” Chris says, although he’s somewhat distracted by the way Peter is nuzzling at his throat. “I have a job, you know.”

“Your loss,” Peter says, kissing his way down Chris’ chest.

Chris groans quietly as Peter goes down on him. “Well – maybe some days I could make it over,” he manages, and Peter hums in agreement, the vibration of it making Chris’ toes curl. A distant part of his brain hopes that Peter won’t care if only lasts two minutes, but hell, Peter is _good_ at this. Way too good for a man who had been married to a woman for the last six or seven years. “Fuck, Peter, I think – ” he manages and Peter’s tongue curls just right and Chris has to bite down on his knuckles to keep from making noise as he comes.

Peter kisses his way back up Chris’ body, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. “Only a little bit noisy,” he teases.

“Oh my God, shut up,” Chris says. “There should be a law against being that good at blowjobs.”

Peter laughs and shrugs, stretching out beside him. “I’ve broken a lot of laws in my lifetime. What’s one more?”

“I, uh.” Chris glances over at him, feeling a bit of doubt creep back in. “I probably won’t be anywhere near as good at it as you. I mean.” He’s blushing and feels like an idiot. “I actually haven’t ever given one before.”

“Really?” Peter is clearly surprised, although not judgmental.

“I’d never been with a man before last night,” Chris admits. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to get weird. I knew I was bisexual by the time I was in college, but that was the sort of thing that my dad would have frowned on, so I never . . . anyway, then when I was twenty, I met Victoria, so it was kind of a moot point.” He sees Peter smiling up at him, with genuine fondness, and flushes even pinker. “What?”

“I’m just thinking about how now I get to teach you something,” Peter says. “And even better, you have no bad habits I’ll have to train out of you.”

Chris gives him the side eye. “Is that your way of saying I didn’t embarrass myself last night?”

“Oh, you _definitely_ didn’t embarrass yourself last night,” Peter purrs. “I had figured you were a little out of practice, but whether it was your first time or your fiftieth, trust me, you left me with no complaints.”

Chris can’t help but grin at that. “Okay. Teach me something, then.”

“With pleasure,” Peter says.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Two weeks go by, and they’re some of the best weeks of Chris’ life. Even the thought of how much his father would hate this doesn’t make a dent in his happiness. He and Peter watch movies and entertain the children and have phenomenal amounts of sex. Peter seems happier than he was before, although he still has his melancholy moments. Chris knows that _Peter_ knows that Olivia would want him to be happy, that Olivia wouldn’t resent him having this. So they don’t talk about it.

He’s in the kitchen lining up sandwich ingredients to make the kids’ lunches for the next day when his phone chimes and he sees he has a message from Kate with her itinerary. “Okay, looks like Kate’s going to be getting into town on Saturday, so you might not see a lot of me for a few days.”

“God forbid,” Peter says, grabbing his ass.

Chris snorts. “You know, I was thinking about Kate being here, and I thought – maybe I could bring her over for dinner?”

Peter shrugs. “I don’t mind, but why?”

“It’s just – I know that Kate is still under my father’s thumb in a big way. But if I can show her what a werewolf pack is really like – show her that you guys aren’t really that different from us – maybe I can help her understand.”

To his relief, Peter nods. “That makes sense. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“I doubt I’ll even recognize you, in that case,” Chris says, and Peter laughs.

“Maybe you should take her on a few hunts first,” he adds. “Reassure her that you’re still the same monster-killing badass she grew up with.”

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” Chris says. “There’s a nest of hags I’ve been wanting to clear out for a while. And Eagle Lake has had a real kappa problem for a while that would be nice to tackle. You want to plan on Sunday, and I’ll let you know if anything changes?”

“Sure. Sounds good.” Peter frowns, then adds, “Will I be driving Cora and Sophie to school, then?”

“What? Oh, no. Kate never sees six AM unless she’s on the wrong side of it. I’ll still take the kids to school, and if you could pick up Allison, that would be great. Just drop her off at home instead of taking her back here, if you wouldn’t mind. She’s old enough to be a latchkey kid for a few afternoons.”

“Okay. Sounds good.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Peter is a little unnerved at how badly he wants to make a good impression on Chris’ sister. She’s a stranger, a hunter. If Chris hadn’t been involved, Peter would have wanted to tear out her throat on general principle. But Chris thought she could be helped, that she could be brought around to his way of thinking. They had grown up together, they loved each other. Peter didn’t know if changing Kate was possible, but he didn’t want to be the one responsible for crushing Chris’ hope that it was.

So he makes sure the house is as clean as one could reasonably expect a house with two young and two medium children to be. He made a pie and two pitchers of different flavors of iced tea. He wanted something that he could serve easily, without needing a bunch of time in the kitchen, so he made beef stew in the crockpot and threw some pre-baked rolls into the oven to warm up.

About five minutes before they’re due to arrive, he shouts up the stairs for Derek to come set the table. “I’m busy!” Derek shouts back, and Peter rolls his eyes in exasperation. Derek’s been in a mood for the past few days, and Peter suspects it’s because of the impending visit. Derek has every reason not to want a hunter in their house, but Peter had sat down with all the kids to explain who Kate was and why he was allowing her over. He had expected Derek to be upset and argue, but he hadn’t. Instead, he had wordlessly accepted Peter’s explanation and done his chores in brooding silence. Now, apparently, he’s going to hide in his room while she’s here, instead of actually voicing any objections.

“Cora, would you please set the table?” Peter asks, and Cora scowls but gets up to do it. Benjamin and Sophie were playing with their Lincoln logs, so he told them to behave themselves for a few minutes and then headed upstairs. “Derek, what are you doing?”

“I’m working on a painting,” Derek says, not looking at him.

Peter sighs. “Derek, I know you don’t like the idea of a hunter being here. But I explained why, and I don’t want you to – ”

“I’m almost finished with it!” Derek snaps at him. “I’ll be down in a half hour or so.”

“Every single time you have said those two sentences in conjunction, I haven’t seen you for three or four hours,” Peter says, and Derek shrugs. Downstairs, Peter hears the timer on the oven go off, and sighs. “Okay, fine. Stay up here and finish your painting.” He doesn’t have the time or the wherewithal to argue, and frankly, if Derek’s going to be in this sort of mood, maybe it’s better if he doesn’t show up. “But don’t you dare come down right after they leave and think you’re going to get a piece of the pie.”

Derek flips him off. Peter pretends not to see it, and heads back down the stairs. The timer on the oven is still merrily beeping, so he turns it off and takes the rolls out, wrapping them in a kitchen towel to keep them warm. He’s barely done that when the doorbell rings. Chris doesn’t usually bother, of course, but Peter knows he’s trying to hide the extent of their relationship from his family. Which is fine. He’s happier with them not knowing, too.

He opens the door to let them in and greets Chris with a handshake, which makes him want to laugh a little. “This is my sister, Kate.”

“How’s it going,” Peter greets her, because ‘how do you do’ is too formal but ‘it’s nice to meet you’ would be a bald-faced lie.

“Nice place!” Kate says cheerfully, as she shrugs out of her coat. Allison is already greeting Cora and Sophie.

“Kids, wash up for dinner,” Peter says, hanging up Chris and Kate’s coats. He gestures as they come to the rest of the house, to where Laura is sitting in her armchair. He refuses to be polite about this, or soften the blow. This is his litmus test for what sort of person Kate is. “My niece, Laura. She won’t shake your hand, I’m afraid. She’s never fully recovered from the fire.”

“Yeah, I heard about that,” Kate says. “Pretty awful.”

She doesn’t say anything directly to Laura, so it’s not a _great_ reaction, but Peter’s seen worse. She didn’t comment on the scarring or talk down to her like she was an idiot. Peter introduces the rest of the kids as they go running by, and mentions, “My nephew Derek is upstairs being a teenager, insisting on finishing what he’s working on before he’ll come down, so we may or may not see him.”

“He okay?” Chris asks, clearly concerned despite his efforts to mask it.

Peter shrugs. “He’s as okay as Derek ever is, I think.”

“What’s he working on?” Kate asks, seeming curious.

“He’s an art student,” Peter says, which is stretching the truth a little. He doesn’t want Kate to know that Derek is pretty much a recluse learning art from YouTube videos. “He was doing a painting when I was up there earlier. He likes to do landscapes and paintings of different places. He’s actually pretty talented, but the fact that he only just turned sixteen makes him more intense than he really has a right to be.”

Sophie giggles, and Peter scoops her up and introduces her to Kate. “That’s a very pretty necklace,” Sophie tells her seriously.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Kate says, smiling. “It’s a family heirloom.”

“Does it have a wolf on it?” Sophie asks, leaning in to take a closer look at the gold pendant.

“It does indeed,” Kate says, and Peter sets Sophie down in her usual chair, calling for Cora and Allison to come sit down as well. There’s a flurry of talking while everyone gets seated and the dishes are passed around.

Kate is disarmingly normal. She compliments the food and has questions for all the kids, like what Cora wants to be when she grows up and how Sophie is enjoying the gymnastics classes that she started. Peter doesn’t like her. He can’t say why, exactly. Just something about her makes his hackles rise. He has to force himself to be pleasant, and reminds himself repeatedly that he’s doing this for Chris.

The topic of hunting doesn’t come up. Nobody talks about the fire. Peter sits with Laura at his right, in her usual place, so he can help her by tearing her roll into smaller pieces and buttering it for her. He asks Kate about how living in Phoenix is, and they talk about a few of the places each of the adult has traveled.

The kids get bored quickly once they’re done eating, so Peter turns them loose in the play room. He still hasn’t seen hide or hair of Derek and it’s clear he has no intention of joining them. Laura stays at the table while the adults talk, because she eats much slower than the children.

About an hour later, they have dessert. Everything is so mundane that Peter feels like he could puke. Once they’ve eaten, he asks Cora if she can clear the dishes. “But I set the table!” she whines. “It’s Derek’s turn to do the dishes!”

“I know, honey, but Derek’s not here. I’m not asking you to do the dishes, just clear the table. I’ll do them myself once you kids are in bed.”

Cora looks like she’s edging towards a sulk, and Allison jumps in. “I’ll help, Cora.”

“Okay,” Cora grumbles, and the two of them get to work. Chris smiles fondly after his daughter.

“We should get going so you can get the kids to bed,” he says, as Allison whisks away the stack of plates.

“Let me hit the john real quick,” Kate says, getting up.

“Down that hall and on your right,” Peter says, gesturing.

Chris also stands, and helps Allison and Cora take the last of the dishes to the kitchen. He gets an arm around Peter’s waist and presses a kiss into the back of Peter’s neck. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “This meant a lot to me.”

“You can make it up to me,” Peter says with a wink. “Call me once she’s left town.”

“I will.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Chris doesn’t say much on the drive home, letting Allison chatter. Kate’s surprisingly quiet, too, which Chris hopes is a good thing. Once they’re home, and Allison has gone upstairs to finish her homework and get ready to bed, Chris gets them both a beer from the fridge. “So?” he asks.

“So what?” Kate asks.

Chris sighs. “So, what do you think of the werewolf family you met tonight? The one where everyone seems to get along and the alpha takes care of the children and doesn’t seem like he’s about to fly off the handle and start murdering people.”

Kate rolls her eyes. “God, it must take so much energy to be that melodramatic. I thought they were fine, Chris. Glad you finally made a friend.”

“For God’s sake, Kate – ” Chris takes a swig of his beer, feeling like he needs it. “You know damned well why I asked you to go over there with me. You know the point I was making. So stop acting like you didn’t.”

“They were fine, Chris!” Kate sounds a little exasperated herself. “I acknowledge the fact that they weren’t all ravening beasts, okay? What do you _want_ from me?”

“I want you to tell me Victoria shouldn’t have killed herself!” Chris shouts, so suddenly that it startles even him. He clenches his jaw and looks away from his sister. “I want you to tell me that you understand why I can’t accept her decision. Peter Hale is a good man and he takes care of those children. There’s no reason Victoria couldn’t have done the same.”

Kate sighs. “Okay, look, Chris, it’s not – yeah, Hale seems like an okay guy. But werewolves have instincts, they have impulses – sure, they’re fine around their _own_ children, but that doesn’t mean that they’re any less animals.”

“Then explain to me how Allison has been going over there after school all year and never got a scratch,” Chris challenges. “Hell, I’ve left her there overnight a couple times when I had to go out of town on hunts.”

“Well, leaving aside how stupid _that_ is,” Kate says with a snort, and Chris’ jaw tightens further, “nobody’s saying that they can’t be fine, you know, most of the time. But I bet that woman who had a chimpanzee for a pet didn’t expect it to go psycho and start tearing a woman’s face off, either.”

Chris rubs both hands over his hair. “So it didn’t work. Okay. Fine. You can keep believing what you believe, Kate, and I’ll keep believing what I believe.”

“Sure.” Kate takes a swig of her beer and then adds cheerfully, “So how long you been riding that dick?”

Chris nearly spits beer all over the floor, flushing bright pink. “Kate, what the hell – ”

“Oh, come on, don’t deny it,” Kate says, laughing. “You think I can’t tell when my big brother’s getting laid? And werewolves are only touchy-feely like that with family, or with people they’re banging.”

“I wasn’t denying it,” Chris says. “Just objecting to your phrasing.”

Kate snorts. “Why?”

“Because it’s vulgar.”

“So what?” Kate stops with her beer halfway to her mouth. “Wait. Don’t _tell_ me. Don’t you _dare_ go off on some ‘it’s more than just sex’ speech.”

“Okay,” Chris says, “I won’t.”

Kate stares at him. “Look, okay, I could understand if you were banging a werewolf. They’re hot as fuck, to be honest, with the super strength and everything. I won’t lie and say I’ve never scratched that itch. But you don’t get into _relationships_ with werewolves. God damn, Chris, I came here to hang out for a couple weeks and then go tell Dad that there’s nothing to worry about, but now I’m actually worried.”

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Chris says. “I’m fine. For the first time in eight years, I’m actually happy.”

“Well, enjoy it while it lasts, big brother,” Kate says, “because it sure as hell won’t be long, once Dad hears about it.”

“You know what, I’m sick of living in fear of Dad being pissed at me,” Chris says. “I’m a grown ass man. I can make my own decisions about my life and my daughter’s life, too. I’ll never change Dad’s mind about werewolves, and apparently I’ll never change yours, either. But I’ve spent a lot more time with them than either of you. I _know_ them. You only know what Dad has told you. So tell Dad whatever the hell you want, and tell him I said I don’t care if he likes it or not.”

“Wow, okay,” Kate says. “You’re clearly upset at me for no fucking reason, so I’m just gonna go. I’m not going to go tattle to Dad yet. I’ll stick around like I planned. Let’s do some hunts together and see where things go from there.”

“Sure,” Chris says. “Whatever you want to do.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow. Try to lighten up between now and then, if you’re capable.”

Chris shows her out and then locks the door behind her, letting his head rest against it after she’s gone. He has a feeling that he just made a horrible mistake, but it still feels good.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Once Peter has the kitchen cleaned up, he starts the still-laborious process of getting both Benjamin and Sophie bathed and into bed. He reads them both a story and goes downstairs to remind Cora that she should be going to bed soon, too, since it’s a school night. Cora sticks her tongue out at him and says she’s finishing her book.

Since she’s busy, Peter does some of his own chores, starting by making a pot of tea and then planning out the grocery list for the next week. He’ll need to do laundry soon. Sophie and Cora both need new shoes. He has no idea how their feet grow so fast. Derek is having a late growth spurt, too; his jeans are about half an inch short now.

He sits down with his mug of tea and a list of things to do in the next week, settling down beside Laura on the sofa. She’s staring out into space as per usual. The television is on, but she clearly isn’t watching it. “How’re you feeling?” Peter asks her, reaching out to take her hand. Not much pain, that’s good. But she feels off to him, somehow. He keeps the emotional side of his bond with the kids closed off most of the time. His own pain and grief was enough to deal with, without layering theirs on top of it. He hesitantly opens up that bond with Laura, and although there’s pain there, it’s mostly a deep, burning rage.

“I know,” Peter murmurs. “She was awful, wasn’t she.” He squeezes Laura’s hand. “I’m sorry that I let her come here. It won’t happen again, not even for Chris. I promise. Come on, it’s getting late. Let’s get you to bed.”

He helps Laura into her room and gets her into bed. Then he checks the locks on all the doors and takes his mug of tea upstairs. He sees the light underneath Derek’s door and sighs. He goes back downstairs long enough to get a second mug of tea, then knocks gently on the door before letting himself in. “You’re still up?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, and scowls when Peter glances over at his easel, which is covered. “It’s not done yet, so don’t look at it.”

“Okay.” Peter hands over the mug of tea and then sits down on the edge of Derek’s bed. “So, it’s been over a month since you turned sixteen. I should start teaching you how to drive.”

Derek gives him a suspicious look. “You’re . . . not here to yell at me for hiding in my room while we had company?”

“No. I do wish you had just asked me, rather than inventing excuses, but.” Peter shrugs slightly. “I can understand why you didn’t want to come downstairs. I can understand why you didn’t want a hunter in our home. I’m sorry I brought her here, Derek. I was trying to help Chris, but I should have told him that I didn’t want to put you and the other kids through this.”

“Yeah.” Derek looks into his mug of tea. “But all the other kids were okay with it. It’s really just me that had a problem, I guess. And I’m not even your kid. So, you know.”

“Hang on, back up the truck for a second,” Peter says. “I’m not your father, but I _am_ your alpha. It’s my job to protect you, to take care of, to keep you safe and healthy and as happy as possible, given all the givens. I’m not . . .” He takes a breath and tries to loosen up his defensive posture. “I’m not perfect. Hell, sometimes I’m not even sure I’m very good at it. But I’m trying, Derek. I’m trying to take care of you but you have to help me out sometimes. You have to talk to me.”

Derek looks away and says, “I told you I didn’t like you dating Chris.”

Peter sighs. “Okay, you did. But you have to admit, there’s a big difference between ‘I don’t like you dating this guy who we’ve known for months and is obviously trustworthy’ and ‘I don’t want the hunter we’ve never met before coming over for dinner’. Hm?”

Derek’s posture tightens. “Maybe.”

“Like I said. I’m not perfect. But I . . .” Peter’s voice trails off. “I need Chris. It’s hard to explain how much losing a mate hurts, how . . . alone and afraid it made me. Chris helped me take care of you, all of you, and I couldn’t have done it without him.”

“I know,” Derek says. “That’s why I figured you would let him bring her here, even if the rest of us didn’t want you to.”

“I can see why you would have thought that. I’ll try to do better, Derek. My first loyalty is to you, to Laura and Cora, to my children. It will never be to anyone else. No matter how much I care about Chris. I don’t want to give him up . . . but I will if I have to.”

Derek glances at him, to gauge his sincerity, and then he manages a wan smile. “I don’t want you to have to.”

“Thanks.” Peter gets an arm around Derek’s shoulders and gives him a somewhat awkward half-hug. Then he stands up and says, “It’s late. You should get to bed.”

“Yeah, soon,” Derek says. He stares into his tea mug as Peter heads to the door. “Hey, Uncle Peter . . .?”

“Hm?” Peter asks, turning back.

“Do you . . .” Derek’s voice trembles. “Do you think Chris’ sister is dangerous?”

“Yes,” Peter says, and sees Derek shudder. “I don’t know what it is about her exactly, but I won’t let her come here again. Don’t worry. I’ll keep us safe.”

“Okay.” Derek tries for the smile again, but fails. “Thanks.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	14. Chapter 14

The next morning, Chris is greeted with a headline in the news that a man had been murdered at a video store. He doesn’t think much of it. It’s unfortunate, but people kill each other for a variety of reasons, and ninety-nine percent of the time, it’s none of his business. He gets Allison up, picks up Sophie and Cora, and drops the girls off at school.

He’s just finished up sending out invoices for his day job when he gets a call from Kate. “Hey, hear about that werewolf attack down at the video store?” she greets him.

“I heard a guy was killed at the video store,” Chris says cautiously. “Police hadn’t released the cause of death yet.”

“Well, I went down to check it out, and there’s a _lot_ of blood,” Kate says, “so I talked to one of the witnesses, who says he saw some sort of monster.”

Chris thinks about asking her for more detail, but decides against it. She’ll just make a big deal out of it if she thinks he doesn’t believe her. “Okay, I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes,” he says, and hangs up. He puts his Bluetooth in so he can call Tom on his way.

“Yeah, it’s the damnedest thing,” Tom says, when Chris asks him about it. “I mean, I figured it was a murder but the preliminary report from the ME says it looks more like an animal attack. Not that I know what the hell a cougar would have been doing in a video store. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I saw on the news that somebody said he’d been attacked by an animal. Guess it made me curious.”

Chris can practically hear Tom rolling his eyes. “Yeah, a twelve-year-old kid who was in the store thought he saw a monster. He and his family moved here from LA last year. Probably saw a mountain lion and it freaked him out. City kids.”

Chris laughs at that. “Okay, well, good luck.” But he feels uneasy as he hangs up the phone, and a few minutes later, he’s pulling into the video store parking lot. He would have preferred to work this on his own, because he knows Kate will get her back up if he won’t take her word for everything she says. But there’s not much he could do about it. “Hey, what’ve we got?”

“Okay, so,” Kate says, talking fast and clearly hyped up, “guy last night is working the late shift. There’s only one customer, a twelve-year-old kid. He was at the back of the store when he heard the guy get attacked. Says he saw a monster busting out through the door, and, well.” Kate gestures to the door. It’s been torn half off of its hinges. “No human did that.”

His distrust of Kate aside, Chris immediately agrees with her assessment. He heads into the store and sees claw marks on one of the counters. He takes a quick picture of them. “I’m surprised the place isn’t swarming with cops.”

“It was earlier,” Kate says, taking a swig of her coffee, “but then they got word from the ME that it had been an animal attack, not a murder. The slapped up the crime tape and left.”

“Any info on the vic?” Chris asks, and Kate shrugs. He takes out his phone and turns back to the news article to see if it’s been updated to release the name of the victim. It has been, along with the information that it looked like it had been an animal attack, probably a cougar. “Jason Stalls,” he mutters, frowning at the article. “I know that name. Why do I know that name?”

“Check this out,” Kate says suddenly, and he glances over at where she’s studying the spot where the body had obviously been left. He walks over and stiffens. There are claw marks in the wall. Claw marks in the shape of a spiral.

“No way,” Chris says. “It fucking _can’t_ be – hang on, I need to get my laptop.” He jogs out to the car without waiting to see if Kate is going to follow. She does, and she hangs over his shoulder while he pulls up his files on the Hale house fire. He looks at the employee list for the gymnasium that had been robbed two years previous, and the assistant manager is Jason Stalls. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

“What’s up?” Kate asks.

“You know the Hale house fire wasn’t an accident, right?” he says, and Kate just shrugs as if to say she’s never thought that much about it. “Well, Peter and I were trying to figure out who was responsible. The arson investigator had pretty clearly been bribed or blackmailed into turning in a false report, and we found out he had been involved in several robberies. This guy – ” He gestures at the video store – “worked at one of the places that was robbed.”

“So he might be the one who told the arsonist how to get the investigator to cover for them,” Kate says, nodding. “If he was involved in the Hale house fire, that explains the spiral. Let’s go see where Peter’s at.”

“Wait, hang on,” Chris says. “This doesn’t make any sense. Peter wouldn’t have – ”

“Oh, come _on_ , Chris,” Kate says. “He can’t be _that_ good in bed – ”

Chris gives her a steely look which actually shuts her up. “Peter wouldn’t have done this because it’s _too sloppy_ ,” he says. “It’s not his style. I’m not saying he wouldn’t kill someone who was involved in the fire – he absolutely would, and he’s told me to my face that he will, if he ever finds them. That’s not the point I’m making. Peter wouldn’t allow witnesses, wouldn’t attack in a place with surveillance cameras, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have killed the guy who could have actually _identified the arsonist_ without asking him any questions.”

Kate huffs out a sigh. “Okay, fine. What’s your theory?”

“I don’t have a theory yet,” Chris says. “Just a lot of questions. Let me go talk to him, and see if the guy I know on the force can get me Jason Stalls’ financial records – ”

“For fuck’s sake!” Kate brushes this off impatiently. “We’ve got a guy here who was torn apart by a werewolf and you’re still trying to solve the damned Hale house fire. That’s not your job, dumbass! Are you going to help me track this monster or not?!”

Chris grits his teeth. “Okay, you’re right. Let me just make one quick call, okay?”

Kate rolls her eyes, but gestures for him to get it over with. Chris thinks about calling Peter, but realizes Peter will have too many questions, Peter will want to have a conversation, and he can’t do that with Kate watching him. He calls Tom instead. “Hey, remember Peter’s theory that Meyers had been covering up robberies with fake arson reports?” he asks, and Tom confirms that he does. “The guy who was killed this morning worked at the gym that was burned down.”

Tom sounds confused. “That’s an awfully big coincidence, but given the fact that it was an animal attack – ”

“Look, I don’t have time to explain right now. Go see Peter, tell him I said to tell you everything.”

Tom’s tone immediately shifts from confused to pissed. “If you two haven’t been totally honest with me – ”

“I’ve got to go. Go see Peter.” Chris hangs up the phone and winces, because he’s definitely going to pay for that later. Then he grabs his rifle from the trunk of his car and gestures to the alley across from the video store, the most likely escape route for any sort of attacker. “Let’s roll.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Peter doesn’t bother to read the news most mornings. It’s depressing, and he doesn’t have time for it. He and Chris occasionally talk about politics, but his concerns are always closer to home. So when the doorbell rings and he opens it to see Tom Stilinski, he’s more confused than anything else. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asks, standing back to let him in.

“Hell if I know,” Tom says. “All I know is that I’ve got a dead body in the morgue and Chris told me I should come see you and tell you to tell me everything. So now I’m pissed off on top of being confused and out of the loop.”

Peter is blinking in equal confusion. “Whose dead body?”

“Jason Stalls. Worked at a video store, was killed by what looked like a cougar. Apparently he worked at the gym that got burned down a few years ago, you know, that Meyers filed a false report on.”

“Damn,” Peter says. “Hang on, I’m calling Chris.”

“How about you tell me what the hell is going on?” Tom asks, but Peter is already dialing. It goes straight to voice mail. Tom sees the look on Peter’s face and says, “Chris sounded like he was in a rush, and he sounded worried, too. He’s not the type who gets worried easily.”

Peter pushes a hand through his hair and says, “In my defense, I told him months ago that we ought to loop you in, but – ” He waves this aside. “Hang on. Let me get Benjamin in his bouncer so we can sit down and talk.”

Tom sighs and follows Peter into the house, waits while he gets Benjamin settled and briefly checks in on Derek, who’s in his room painting, and Laura. Then he gets them both a mug of coffee.

“Okay, so, first things first,” Peter says, “I’m a werewolf.” He holds one hand up and lets his claws come out. It’s always better to add proof to the initial statement.

Tom practically chokes on his coffee, and when he’s done coughing, he blurts out, “You mean Stiles wasn’t making that up?”

Peter blinks. “Wait. Stiles told you already? I didn’t even know he knew.”

“He told me after he stayed over on Christmas that you guys were all werewolves and I told him to mind his p’s and q’s and stop telling ridiculous stories.” Tom rubs a hand over his hair. “He’s not gonna let me live that one down. But if you didn’t tell him, how did he know?”

“Oh, well, it’s not exactly difficult to figure out if you spend any appreciable time around the children. Sophie hasn’t quite nailed down the ‘don’t tell everyone about werewolves’ aspect of life in a supernatural family, Cora is accident prone but we have healing abilities, and Derek might have told him just to get him to be quiet for two consecutive minutes.”

Tom snorts. “Bet that backfired on him. But okay. You guys are _werewolves_. Okay. I’m just . . . going to take a minute to wrestle with that.”

“Take all the time you need,” Peter says, amused.

“And if you’ve got any whiskey you can go ahead and add a shot to this,” Tom adds, gesturing with his coffee mug.

“I’ll make you an Irish coffee, if that’ll help,” Peter says, getting up. He comes back with the drink a few moments later. “It’s not as good when the coffee’s reheated, but I feel like you aren’t in the mood to complain. And it’s just what a day like today needs.”

“True,” Tom says, and takes a swallow. Then he lets out a breath. “Okay. Werewolves. That’s, uh, that’s a thing I now know about. Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me what you and Chris have been up to?”

Peter nods and sips his own, still black, coffee. He starts with the fire, the mountain ash circle, what Cora had and unfortunately hadn’t seen. Tom takes notes and asks a bunch of questions about the mountain ash, frowning faintly. “Honestly, other than the ‘werewolf’ thing, Chris and I have shared pretty much everything we knew,” Peter says. “Without your help, we wouldn’t have even gotten half of what we had on Meyers, so that seemed fair.”

Tom nods. “Well, that’s a relief. And I can see why you didn’t tell me. But you genuinely have no idea why your family was targeted?”

“None. And it was somewhat surprising, from an objective point of view. I’m not the world’s biggest fan of hunters, but ninety-eight percent of them don’t attack without compelling evidence. There are some creatures which are bad all the time – wendigoes, shtrigas, red caps – but the majority of supernatural creatures are thinking, feeling beings. Werewolves, banshees – we’ve got our quirks, but we’re more human than not.”

“And nobody in your family had mentioned having problems with hunters? Having run in to any of them?”

“No. We were taken totally off guard. I’ve always assumed that even if it was done by a hunter – the mountain ash proves that – it wasn’t for hunter reasons. But I don’t know what those reasons would be. And – ” He lets out a breath. “I’ve suspected for a long time that they had some internal source of information. Family dinners like the one we were having that night were rare. Aaron often worked evening shifts – he was a night owl. Kayla taught evening classes as well. My own job took me out of town for a day or two at a time, and Talia’s schedule varied on whether or not she was in court. So most of the time, each family had their own dinner plans. There was only one day a week where we made the effort to get all of us there at one time. If it hadn’t been for those errands I had to run, we would have been there, too.”

Tom nods, frowning. “I still think there must have been some sort of accelerant used. The house went up like a tinderbox. And fires are quick, quicker than most people think, but . . .”

“If someone used accelerant, they would have had to have been very careful,” Peter says. “Werewolves have very sensitive noses. I still don’t even know why they didn’t smell whoever was laying down the mountain ash circle. I don’t remember what Talia was cooking that day. I suppose that could have masked it, if it was something strong.”

“Hm.” Tom taps his pencil against the table for a few minutes, clearly deep in thought. “Okay. So here’s what we have today. Jason Stalls was killed last night, by what we thought was a cougar but I’m guessing Chris thought was a werewolf. But I don’t get why he threw me a bone and told me to come see you, instead of just explaining things to me, or bypassing me completely and coming here himself.”

“Ah, that, I think I can explain,” Peter says. “His sister is in town. She’s a hunter, his whole family is full of them, and his father is a particularly miserable specimen. He’s been worried that if his father thinks he’s going soft, he’ll be pissed off and show up to – I don’t know what, honestly. I don’t think Chris knows himself.”

“Uh huh.” Tom still looks pensive. “So presumably, Stalls worked with Meyers on the robberies. He probably knew about the betting ring and they set the whole thing up and split the money. Stalls told somebody else about it, and they decided to use Meyers to cover up evidence of arson in the fire they used to kill your family, threatening to expose him for his past sins if he didn’t play ball. But why would somebody go after Stalls now? The fire was ten months ago.”

Peter shrugs. “I have no idea.”

Tom sighs. “Where were you last night, Peter?”

Peter arches an eyebrow at him, then laughs. “I was here. I put Laura to bed around ten. She wasn’t feeling well – social events still stress her out – so I gave her an Ambien to help her sleep. Then I went up to talk to Derek, because he’s been in a mood for a few days and I wanted to see if I could make him feel better. We wound up talking for a while, and then I went to bed. Would you like me to call him down here to confirm my alibi?”

“As if you couldn’t have coached him ahead of time,” Tom says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll pass, mostly because I don’t think you did it. Whoever attacked Stalls went from zero to bloody spectacle in about three seconds, according to the witness who was in the back of the store. You wouldn’t have done that. You would have questioned him about the arsonist, and _then_ gone to bloody spectacle.”

“True,” Peter says, not at all bothered by this assessment.

Tom’s quiet for a long minute. “When did Chris’ sister get into town?”

“A few days ago. Why?”

“Whenever the question is ‘why is this happening now’, you look for what changed,” Tom says. “Kate is the new variable.”

Peter grimaces a little. “That’s true, but I don’t think she has the brute strength someone would need to murder someone and make it look like an animal attack. Chris told me they went back to his place after they left here last night – you’d have to ask him when she left for her hotel.”

“Even if Kate didn’t do it, that doesn’t mean she’s not the catalyst.” Tom is still frowning. “When you say Chris’ father is a particularly miserable specimen, what do you mean by that?”

“That he’s an abusive dickbag and he gets off on killing monsters,” Peter says, “and before you ask, he was out of the country when the fire was set. He was one of the first people I looked into, when I had put myself together well enough to look into things.”

“He could still have set it up, though,” Tom says. “I’ve been a cop long enough to know that rock solid alibis don’t always mean what you think.” He shakes his head and stands up. “Okay. Let me do my job. I’ll see what I can find out about Stalls, pull his associates, see if he has any connection to the Argents or any other hunting families. Can you get me a list of them?”

“Chris would know better than me,” Peter says, then adds, “Will you be able to investigate? Won’t Sheriff Benson shut you down?”

Tom shrugs. “Only if I tell him what I’m doing. Until then, I’m just investigating Stalls’ murder.”

“Until it gets officially written off as an animal attack,” Peter says.

“Until then,” Tom says. “Those can take a few days. Things get backed up, reports get misfiled.”

Amused, Peter says, “Maybe I’ll see if I can throw a few wrenches in the gears.”

“See, you _can_ be a team player,” Tom says. “I’ll keep you posted.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Peter picks the girls up from school as usual. For the past few days while Kate’s in town, he’s taken Allison back to the Argent house. Now he’s not sure what to do. If there’s a killer out there, Allison will be safer with him. His instinct says to take her back to the den. But that might cause problems long-term. Chris still isn’t answering his texts.

After a few moments to ponder while the girls pile into the car, he heads back to the Hale house. Chris might be annoyed with him, but without a way to ask what he’d prefer Peter do, Peter is going to err on the side of caution.

It takes Allison less than a minute to notice. “Oh, are we going back to your place today? Has Aunt Kate left town? Dad didn’t tell me she was leaving, but they got in a fight last night.”

Peter grimaces a little. “What about?” he asks, despite knowing that Chris would rather Allison not know about or talk about it. Chris had actually detailed the argument via text the night before, so Peter figures he might as well find out how much Allison heard.

“Oh, you know.” Allison wrinkles her nose. “Aunt Kate was all like ‘yeah, so werewolves aren’t ravening beasts, I don’t get what your point was’ and my dad got mad and shouted at her about my mom . . . you know . . . and Aunt Kate basically brushed him off. Then she said their dad wouldn’t like him being friends with your family, to which I showed great restraint in not shouting ‘no doi’ down the stairs.”

At this, Peter has to bite back a smile. “Good job. But yes, I’m taking you back to our place today. Your father is out on a hunt and he wasn’t sure when he’d be back.”

“Okay,” Allison says, and doesn’t ask any more questions. Peter has already decided not to mention the man who was murdered.

He just can’t make it add up. There weren’t a lot of werewolves in town. He had carefully broached the subject with Satomi Ito, and she clearly hadn’t had a clue that Stalls was involved in the Hale fire. Peter could see how someone could be covering their tracks. He could even see why they would make it look like a werewolf attack – to frame him. But how would they have been capable of that? He had gotten the initial crime scene photographs, and it sure as hell _looked_ like a wolf attack.

There’s a lot of information he’s missing, so for the moment all he can do is keep the kids safe. The inactivity chafes him a little, but as usual, they keep him busy. He gets them to do their homework and then starts working on dinner.

At four thirty, his phone buzzes and he sees a text from Chris. A wave of relief washes over him as he opens it. He doesn’t love what it says, though. ‘On my way over to pick up Allison. Kate with me. Wants to ask you some questions. She may or may not behave herself. Will be there in ten.’

‘Noted on all counts,’ Peter texts back, and then hastily shoves dinner in the oven, glad it was something simple. “Hey, kids?” he calls out. “Dinner’s going to be about thirty minutes. How would you like to go out back for a while?”

“I still have eight math problems,” Allison says, not looking up from her homework.

“It’s too cold,” Sophie whines. “I don’t wanna go outside.”

Peter sighs a little and then shouts up the stairs. “Derek? I need you to come give me a hand.”

Derek pokes his head out of his room and looks down warily. “What is it?”

“The kids are going to go do their homework in your room, since it’s too cold to go outside and I’m going to need some room down here.”

“But – ” Derek protests.

“I don’t want to – ” Sophie starts.

Peter lets the crimson flare into his eyes and says, firmly but not loudly, “Now, please!”

All the kids scramble to their feet and up the stairs, even Allison. Cora scoops Benjamin up and carries him up the stairs with her. Peter takes a few minutes to take a deep breath before setting his phone aside and setting it to record whatever conversation is about to happen. He paces around the room, wrestling with his temper.

A few minutes later, there’s a loud knock, and he opens the door to see Chris looking worn and tired. Kate is behind him, and she smiles pleasantly. “Thanks for picking Allison up, Peter! Chris and I have been out looking for a murderer all damned day! It was a relief to know that she was safe in your hands.”

“She’s upstairs finishing her math,” Peter says, and takes a step back despite his instincts telling him not to. “Come on in.”

Kate does, and after a moment of hesitation, Chris does too. “I got your texts,” he says. “Any progress?”

“I’m still waiting to hear from Tom, so no,” Peter says.

“Damnedest thing,” Kate says, still cheerfully. “That a guy who was involved in your family’s murder turned up dead just now.”

“It’s an interesting turn of events,” Peter says, meeting her gaze. “Why now? That’s the real question. The only new variable in the equation is you.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t kill him,” Kate scoffs.

“Great. Neither did I. Now that we’ve settled that – ”

“You’re not the only werewolf in this house,” Kate interrupts.

“No, I’m not.” Peter meets her gaze in an open challenge.

“How about we talk to the older kids?” Kate asks. “Just for a few minutes. Ask a few questions, maybe, about where they were last night.”

“They were here,” Peter says. “Derek and I were actually having some tea at the time of the attack – which I got from Tom,” he adds. “Laura, as you’ve seen, hasn’t been attacking anybody. So that should settle matters.”

“It doesn’t,” Kate says.

“It does with me,” Peter says. “You’ve got a murderer to find? Go find them. You won’t find any in this house or in my pack. If you’re such an amazing hunter, why don’t you go do your God damned job and leave me out of it.”

“You’re asking me to believe that it’s a coincidence that – ”

“I don’t care what you believe,” Peter says, “as long as you believe it off my property.” He turns his head slightly and calls out, “Allison? Your father is here to pick you up!”

“Okay, coming!” Allison shouts from upstairs.

Peter turns back to Chris and says, “If your sister lays a finger on any member of my pack, she will regret it. Is that clear?”

Chris nods, and Allison jogs down the stairs. Kate opens her mouth, and Chris says sharply, “We’re leaving.”

“God, you have turned into such a killjoy,” Kate snaps at him, and storms out of the house. Allison ducks her head and hastens out the door as well.

“Chris,” Peter says quietly, before Chris can leave. “I’m not playing. If she tries to get to one of the kids, I’ll kill her.”

“I know,” Chris says. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else, hesitates, and then shakes his head. “I have to go. Thanks for watching out for Allison.”

Peter shuts the door behind him and takes a deep breath, letting the rage dissipate. He already knows he’s not going to be sleeping tonight. But he puts a smile on his face as the kids poke their heads out to see if it’s safe. “Come on down,” he tells them. “Everything’s okay.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	15. Chapter 15

 

“I cannot fucking believe you,” Kate says, as soon as they’ve pulled out of the Hales’ driveway. “You have got to be kidding me right now.”

“We’re not discussing this in front of Allison,” Chris says.

“Oh, come on, Chris!” Kate says. “She’s almost thirteen years old! It’s high time you stopped treating her like a kid and showed her what we’re really dealing with here! Which is, in case you somehow haven’t noticed, a werewolf who murdered somebody, who we need to find and put down. Regardless of whether or not it’s someone we had dinner with two days ago.”

“I already told you that Peter wouldn’t – ”

“Did it occur to you that maybe that’s exactly what Peter knew you would think?” Kate interrupts. “That maybe he did this in an un-Peter-like manner because he _knows_ what you think of him?”

Chris grits his teeth. “I would believe that Peter might make a big fuss and crash a video game store instead of doing this quietly, in order to make it look like it wasn’t him. But I still say he would have questioned the guy about the arsonist first.”

“Unless he already knows who it is!” Kate says, exasperated. “He figured out who this guy was. Maybe he – ”

“He would have told me,” Chris says.

“Are you sure?” Kate asks. “Sure enough to bet someone’s life on it?”

Chris feels a bit of anxiety twist his stomach. It _is_ possible that Peter had figured out who the arsonist was and hadn’t told him, but he can’t shake the feeling that Peter wouldn’t do this right now. Not while Kate is in town. He wouldn’t have wanted to put Chris at risk like this. So all he says is, “Yes.”

“Jesus Christ,” Kate says, clearly disgusted. “Pull over.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to get out of this car before I say something both of us regret later,” Kate says.

“Are you going to go back to the Hales?” Chris asks, still not pulling over.

“I’m going to catch a killer,” Kate says. “Since you apparently have no interest in doing that, it’s really none of your business.”

Chris pulls over and puts the car in park. “If you want to surveil the Hale family tonight to make sure none of them leave, feel free. But don’t do anything stupid, Kate.”

Kate flips him off. “You know what I think?” she says. “I think you know damned well that Peter’s the killer, and you just don’t care. You think that whoever killed the Hales deserves it, so it isn’t your problem.”

“You’re half-right,” Chris retorts. “I’m ninety-nine percent positive that Peter’s _not_ the killer, but if he was, I wouldn’t care. Because whoever murdered the Hales does deserve to have their throat torn out. There were _kids_ in that house, Kate. Jocelyn Hale was only seven years old. Sophie was five, and whoever set that fire sure as hell didn’t plan for her to get out. So yeah, I think the death penalty is applicable in this case. And frankly, I don’t know why you care so much about this. I know you don’t give a shit about the guy who got murdered. I’ve never seen you this invested in a hunt before. Which makes me think that you _want_ it to be Peter. You want to have an excuse to kill my boyfriend, like that will suddenly make me think all werewolves are animals again. I’ll go back to being Dad’s golden child so he’ll stop putting pressure on you to have kids you don’t want and you can go back to doing whatever you want, whenever you want. I hate to break it to you, Kate, but that’s not going to happen. You want to let Dad ruin your life, fine. I’m done letting him ruin mine.”

“You’re a selfish son of a bitch, you know that?” Kate asks, before she gets out of the car and slams the door so hard that windows rattle.

Chris rubs a hand over his face, feeling his stomach settle a little. “Dad?” Allison asks timidly, from the backseat. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Chris takes in and lets out a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m okay, Allison. I’m sorry you were here for that.”

Allison gives a little shrug. “Should we call Peter and warn him?”

“He doesn’t need me to. He knows damned well that she’s out for blood. You and I should go home, where it’s safe. Peter knows he can call me if he needs me.”

“Okay,” Allison says, although she sounds a little dubious. “Can I ask a question?”

“Sure, honey.”

“Do you really think Peter didn’t kill the man in the video store?”

“I really do,” Chris says. “Now, I’m not saying that Peter’s not capable of murder. He is, absolutely. But he wouldn’t have done it now, while Kate was here, causing exactly this sort of,” Chris waves his hand vaguely, “problem.”

Allison nods, chewing on her lower lip. “But if Peter didn’t do it, then who did?”

Chris is quiet for a minute before he admits, “I don’t know.” He puts the car in drive and starts down the road again. “Come on. Let’s get home before it gets dark.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Peter puts effort into keeping things as normal as possible in the wake of Kate and Chris’ visit. He knows that the kids are worried, but reassures them that everything is going to be fine. Derek is the most edgy, and he gets snappish with the younger kids more than once. Peter takes care to keep his reprimands gentle. He knows that Derek is just frightened.

After dinner, the kids watch some TV and then he puts the younger ones to bed. Cora stays up a little while longer, finishing her homework, but she’s in bed by nine. Peter brews himself a strong pot of coffee. He already knows that he’s not going to sleep.

“Uncle Peter?” Derek approaches cautiously, twisting his hands in the hem of his shirt. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Yes, actually,” Peter says, and sees the painful relief on Derek’s face. “I’d like you to keep watch on the front of the house. You can see the street from the window in your bedroom. Keep the curtains most of the way shut, and turn out your lights so you don’t make a silhouette. If you see anything out of the ordinary, give me a shout.”

“Okay,” Derek says. He takes a mug of the coffee and heads up the stairs.

Peter has already checked all the windows on the second floor. Now he checks all the ones on the first floor, as well as the doors. They’re all solidly locked. He opens the back door long enough to stick his nose outside. He smells nothing out of the ordinary. The fresh, sharp smell of winter night air, the scents of the children from where they were playing earlier, the chimney smoke from someone down the street. No silver, no mountain ash, no Kate. He shuts the door and locks it.

Part of him doubts that Kate will actually make a move. She’d have to be an idiot. Attacking werewolves in their den is never a good idea. That clearly hadn’t stopped whoever had murdered his family, but that had clearly taken weeks or months of preparation. Kate’s had fewer than twenty-four hours.

Of course, it’s entirely possible that Kate _is_ an idiot, but Peter doesn’t think so. He’s met her, he’s talked to her, but more than that, Chris respects his sister’s abilities.

He’s less worried, but more baffled, by this rogue wolf who had killed Jason Stalls. He has no idea who it could be, and that bothers him. There are other werewolves in town, like the Ito pack, and an omega here and there. But even if they’d had the motivation to go after the people behind the Hale house fire, how the hell could they have known about Stalls’ involvement?

He thinks back to what Tom had said, about Kate being the new variable. It’s possible that someone is trying to frame Peter – someone saw Kate in town and wanted her to do the dirty work for them – but again, how would they have known about Stalls? Unless whoever killed him was somebody also involved in the fire.

That might work, he muses. It had clearly been a multi-person operation. What if one of the perpetrators had been living in fear that Peter would find him? That one of the others would talk? Kill the accomplices, frame Peter so Kate kills him – two birds with one stone.

He takes out his phone and texts Tom. ‘Any luck in Stalls’ records?’

About ten minutes pass before Tom replies, and he doesn’t do it by text. Peter’s phone rings, and when he answers, Tom says, “Here’s a thought, how about we don’t commit the fact that I’m sharing confidential police information with a civilian to permanent record?”

Peter gives a snort of laughter despite himself. “Of course. I’m a little tired, sorry. Seriously though, any joy?”

“Interestingly, yes,” Tom says. “Promise me you won’t go kill anybody and maybe I’ll tell you.”

“Oh, I suppose. The kids are already in bed and I can’t leave them.”

“Super reassuring, Peter.” There’s the rustling of papers in the background. “So both Stalls and Pryor – the gym’s manager – had criminal records. Stalls’ was mostly minor stuff – possession, vandalism, one B&E that was dropped due to lack of evidence. I ran both their contacts and cross-referenced and came up with two men that have much more extensive records. Robbery, B&E, and, interestingly, arson.”

Peter lets out a breath. “So maybe we’ve found our triggermen, so to speak.”

“Yeah, maybe. Now, they both left Beacon Hills after the fire at the gymnasium, but they’ve been arrested here twice since then for drunk and disorderly, so apparently they come and go. I’ve ordered financial records for both of them so we can see if they were in Beacon Hills at the time of the fire. And where they are now.”

“Okay.” Peter hesitates, because he wants to say something else, wants to have some brilliant solution to all of this, but he doesn’t.

Tom seems to sense that, because he says, “Take it easy, Peter. Police work is either good or fast. It’s hardly ever both. Let me do my job.”

“Okay. Just call me when you have updates.”

“Will do.”

Peter hangs up the phone and rests his temple against the cool glass of the window. It’s going to be a long night.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Peter is grouchy the next morning. He had checked on Derek and found him asleep around one AM, but he had been up all night. At six thirty, he texts Chris to tell him not to worry about picking up Cora and Sophie. He’s keeping them home from school until this is settled, one way or another. Chris texts back ‘ok’ but doesn’t reply otherwise.

He makes the kids breakfast and settles them down with various activities, then sits down in Laura’s room to go over the information that Tom has sent up. The two arsonists have connections with a laundry list of criminals, and it’s too much for Tom to do himself – especially when this isn’t a sanctioned investigation and he still has his own work to do.

The two men had definitely been in Beacon Hills at the time of the fire. Each of them had been arrested in the meantime, one of them twice, both for minor drug offenses. Their financials were a tangled mess, but there was no evidence of a bribe.

“Bet they got paid in drugs,” Peter remarks to Laura, who stares off into space.

Tom had sent a squad car to pick them up for questioning, but they hadn’t been home. He calls Peter at about half past twelve and says, “Stalls’ autopsy report is in.”

Peter sighs. “We’ve been shut down?”

“Yeah. Benson cancelled the APB on Torrance and Bayard. They’re in the wind now.”

“Shit,” Peter snarls. He reminds himself that he can’t just go kill the sheriff, even if the man richly deserves it. “Okay. What now, any ideas?”

Tom’s quiet for a minute. “You looked over the video store photos, right?” he asks, and Peter confirms that he has. “Do you think a human could have done that?”

“Anything’s possible, but it seems pretty unlikely. The busted down door, the claw marks, the kid who saw a monster – any of those could be explained away, but all three together?”

“Yeah. That’s kind of what I was thinking. But werewolves are just – they’re basically regular people, right? I mean, I know that they’re not all animals, like some of the hunters think. But they can be bad people just like they can be good people. Right?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Peter says, wondering what he’s getting at.

“You said a while back, Gerard had hired a sorcerer to sic some sort of zombie onto Chris,” Tom says. “What if this is the same sort of deal? What if the werewolf was basically just a hitman?”

Peter thinks it over. The idea has merit. Hire some werewolf from out of town to come kill one of the people involved in the fire, frame Peter for the crime, wait for Kate to kill him. “It’s possible, but whoever did it would have had to know Stalls was involved in the fire.”

“Even if Gerard Argent _wasn’t_ responsible, do you think he couldn’t have found out?” Tom asks. “I mean, honest question there. He seems to be like-minded. Maybe he sat down with a beer with the guy who had done it and found out who did his grunt work.”

“Definitely possible,” Peter says. “Not sure where it gets us, though.”

“Without the authority to interrogate Gerard, nowhere,” Tom says. “But you said you had checked into him before, found out he was out of the country. You clearly have contacts I don’t. Maybe you can dig up some information.”

“Are you asking me to break the law?” Peter asks, amused.

“Just work around it,” Tom says, then adds, “and don’t be a dick about it.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Around midnight, Peter dozes off. He doesn’t mean to. It had been his plan to stay up all night again, watch the back of the house. He can nap during the day to compensate, as long as Derek is around to watch the kids.

Except he hadn’t been thinking ahead, so he hadn’t napped during the day, and it was a hell of a long day. He was on the phone for half of it, talking to different contacts, poring through all sorts of illegally obtained records. The kids were good, but it was a lot of work on no sleep. Despite his best efforts, he dozes. Everything is quiet. The kids are sleeping. There’s no scents of gunpowder or silver or mountain ash. When he realizes he’s drifting off, he sets his alarm for a half an hour. Better to take a quick cat nap that he plans for than to sleep for hours unchecked.

But his alarm doesn’t wake him. Instead, his phone rings, startling him awake. He fumbles for it and clears his throat before he picks up. “Hello?”

“Peter? It’s Tom. Did I wake you?”

“Yes, but don’t worry about it,” Peter says. “What’s wrong?”

“Police just found two bodies in the forest. Another animal attack. Want to guess whose?”

“Christ,” Peter mutters, mostly to himself. “Torrance and Bayard?”

“Yeah.”

“What was the time of death?”

“They’re fresh, looks like,” Tom says. “Maybe half an hour ago. Certainly not any longer than that.”

“Okay. Better call Chris – he might have ways of tracking the werewolf that did it. I could follow my nose, but I can’t leave the kids.”

“Could Melissa or somebody come over? Watch the house for you?”

Peter shakes his head. “Under normal circumstances, I would say yes, but not while Kate is out for blood. I need to stay here with them if they’re in danger. But if you happen to run across her and think you can keep her busy for a while, call me. I can come check out the scene.”

“Roger that,” Tom says, and hangs up.

Peter hauls himself up off the sofa and goes over to the front window. He cracks it open and takes several deep breaths. No unusual smells. He does the same at the back and smells, surprisingly, Laura. He tries to remember if she had been outside earlier that day. Had her scent been there last time he checked? Had he used the same window?

He shakes his head and goes to check on the children. Sophie and Cora are sound asleep in their room. Benjamin is fussing a little, and Peter takes a minute to soothe him. Then he goes into Derek’s room. He’s fallen asleep by the window again, holding onto his sketch book. Peter takes it from his limp hands and covers him with a blanket. He glances down at the sketch and feels his stomach drop into his shoes. It’s a drawing of a pendant, one with a wolf and a sun. Kate’s pendant. Why would Derek be drawing Kate’s pendant? _How_ would Derek be drawing Kate’s pendant? He hadn’t come downstairs while she was there, hadn’t met her.

He leaves the room feeling uneasy, holding onto the sketch while his muddled brain starts to put pieces together. Derek’s girlfriend, who he hadn’t talked to since the fire. His repeated apologies after the fire. The family dinner. Laura’s dull rage after Kate had come over. The picture the pieces are forming is turning his stomach. He goes back downstairs and his back stiffens as soon as he hits the bottom step. He smells blood. Not the blood of any of his pack; he would know that anywhere. A stranger’s blood. _Two_ strangers’ blood. There’s a little smear of it on the window casing, and the last piece drops into place.

He turns just in time to see the dueling expressions of sorrow and rage on Laura’s face as she brings the chair down on his head.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably put a warning on this chapter for violence. Like, um. A lot of violence.

 

“Laura, no!” Derek shouts, and Peter shakes his head, dazed. His niece could pack one hell of a punch, that was for sure. And the chair she was using as a weapon was solid enough that it was broken, but not splintered. She raises it above her head again, and he instinctively puts both arms up to shield his head. “Laura, stop!”

“What’s going on?” Cora calls from upstairs, and Peter hears feet on the stairs. Laura hesitates, her face twisted with indecision, but then she swings downward, hard.

Her moment of hesitation is long enough for Peter to get his wits gathered. He grabs her wrist before what’s left of the chair can impact. She tries to pull back, struggles against his superior strength, before he manages to wrench it away from her. Then he pulls her down, holding her against his chest. She tries to twist out of his grip, but he’s too strong for her. He cradles her carefully, running a hand over her hair and down her back.

“Let me go!” she screams, and the words are like a knife to his gut. He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t say ‘it’s okay’ because it’s not, can’t tell her to calm down because she has every right to her rage.

So he murmurs, “I’m sorry, Laura,” as he rocks her back and forth. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Cora asks, and her confusion is clearly starting to upset her. “What’s going on?”

“Laura found some people who were responsible for the fire,” Peter says, careful to keep his voice calm, “and she killed them.”

“I had to!” Laura shouts, pushing him away. This time he lets her. “You weren’t doing anything! You let them get away with it! I had to take care of them after you let her into our house! You son of a bitch, you let her into the den and smiled at her!”

“I didn’t know, Laura,” Peter manages to choke out. “How could I know? How did _you_ know?”

“I know because Derek told me!” Laura says, confirming a few things that Peter had suspected but hadn’t been sure of yet. “Because he trusted me! He didn’t trust you! You’re his alpha and he didn’t trust you!”

“Laura, stop!” Derek says, his voice layered with pain and anguish. “It wasn’t like that! I didn’t tell you because I trusted you, I told you because I didn’t think you were listening! Because you – you – ” His voice chokes. “It didn’t seem like you were ever coming back.”

“He could have found out!” Laura is still shouting. “He let them go! He stopped looking for them because he didn’t care!”

“That is _not_ true,” Peter says, fighting against the lump in his throat. “Laura, I’m sorry I didn’t find them. I’m sorry that you thought I didn’t care. But I just – there was just too much. I had to let it go so I could take care of all of you. I chose the living over the dead. I did what I had to do.”

“You chose yourself,” Laura spits at him. “Yourself and the hunter bastard you had the hots for – ”

“Laura, stop,” Derek says, his voice pleading. “Stop, it wasn’t Peter’s fault. It was my fault. Everything was my fault.”

“Nothing was your fault,” Peter tells him, and Laura snarls at both of them. “Laura, you’re upset, you’re hurt, I know, but you need to calm down now,” he says, and her snarl just intensifies. He lets the crimson flare in his eyes and snaps, “ _Calm down_.”

Laura jerks away from him, and before he can say anything else, the doorbell rings. Peter wonders who the hell is at their door at one AM, but the answer is obvious, and it’s confirmed a few moments later when he hears the key in the lock. Laura’s head snaps up as she figures it out, and her body tenses, coiled up and ready to spring. Peter has to tackle her to the floor just as Chris comes into the room. “Peter, what the hell – ”

“Daddy and Laura are fighting!” Sophie wails, and throws herself at Chris. He scoops her up instinctively and looks at the ball of fur and fangs on the floor in total bewilderment.

Peter manages to get Laura subdued, although only barely, and pulls her against his chest again. Chris sees the blood all over her and sucks in a sharp breath. “Jesus Christ, Peter – ”

“You’re not helping, Chris,” Peter says, still struggling to contain Laura. “Tell me your sister isn’t here.”

“What? No, I haven’t seen her since the other day – ”

Laura lurches upright, bares her fangs at Chris, and demands, “Where is she?”

“I have no idea,” Chris says. “Peter, what the hell is going on?”

There’s no easy way to say it, so Peter doesn’t bother trying. “Your sister. She’s the one who burned our house down.”

He sees the news lodge in Chris’ gut, sees the disbelief warring with anger. “No. Kate wouldn’t – ”

Laura screams in rage and defiance, and tries to launch herself at Chris. Peter wrestles her back to the floor, and finally, her screams start to turn to sobs. He holds her tightly, rocking her back and forth, murmuring apologies to her. “It’s okay, I’m here now. I’ll take care of everything, I promise.”

He looks up at Chris, and he knows his eyes are still red. Chris swallows hard and says, “Kate . . . what makes you think that it was Kate?”

Peter looks over at Derek, because he doesn’t want to say anything without Derek’s okay. Derek swallows hard, his throat working hard. “She . . . she was my girlfriend. I thought she . . . I didn’t know.” He looks at Peter, the tears spilling over. “I didn’t know, Uncle Peter. I swear I didn’t know.”

“It’s all right,” Peter says, even though it’s anything but. “I just, God, Derek, I wish you had told me. I could have taken care of all of this months ago.”

“I couldn’t,” Derek says, sinking down to the floor. “She – she texted me. The day after the fire. While I was at the hospital with Laura. Told me that – if I told anyone, she’d have to come back and finish it. Kill you and the kids. She called it ‘population control’.” He chokes on the words. “Said that it was okay that a few of us had survived, but if we came after her, she’d have to, to kill everyone left so she would be safe. And – and it was all my fault. I told her about the family dinner. I loaned her my clothes. She said she liked the way I smelled.” He bites back a sob. “I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. She killed everyone and it’s all my fault.”

“No, no, it isn’t,” Peter says, reaching out and getting an arm around Derek’s shoulders, pulling him in to an embrace. “She lied to you, she used you. That’s not your fault. What she did is not your fault.”

Derek burrows into his embrace, crying harder. Peter holds both him and Laura at the same time, his heart aching. “It’s going to be okay,” he says to both of them. “I’m going to take care of it. I’m so sorry that you felt like you couldn’t rely on me to do that, Laura. But I can, and I will. She’s never going to hurt us again, I promise.”

Finally, he looks up at Chris. The hunter is standing there, frozen. But Peter can see that he believes them now. He can read it in the lines of agony etched into Chris’ face. They stare at each other for a moment, and then Peter says softly, “I think you had better go, Chris.”

“I . . .” Chris’ protest dies in his throat, but then he rallies. “I swear to God, Peter, I didn’t know it was her. I didn’t.”

Peter nods. “I know.”

“We can’t let him go,” Laura protests, her voice rough with tears. “What if he goes and warns her and she runs away? We can’t let him go!”

“He can if he wants to.” Peter addresses Laura, but he never breaks Chris’ gaze. “He can tell her whatever he wants. It doesn’t matter. She won’t escape now that I know it was her.”

Chris has to swallow hard. Then he turns and leaves without another word.

Peter holds Derek and Laura tightly for a few moments. Then he manages to get to his feet. “Come on,” he says to them. “We’ve got work to do.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Chris’ hands are shaking as he drives back to his own house. He can barely process everything that’s happened in the past half hour. Tom had called him to let him know about the murders, and he had decided to go over to Peter’s to make sure everything there was okay.

Laura being the killer was the last thing he had anticipated, but that’s barely sunk in at the moment. He keeps thinking about to his sister. To the look of agony on Derek’s face while he had described what Kate had done. He thinks back to Kate saying only a few days previous that she’d ‘scratched that itch’. The fact that she had been talking about a fifteen year old boy makes him sick to his stomach.

What can he possibly do now? Peter was serious when he said he would kill Kate. If it had been anybody else, Chris wouldn’t have had a problem with letting him. But Kate was his sister. Didn’t he at least owe her an opportunity to explain why she had done it? Was there any answer that would make her less deserving of the death penalty?

If Peter kills Kate, what will Gerard do? He obviously won’t let it slide, and if Chris refuses to take care of Peter himself, that will only result in more problems. Gerard is already three quarters convinced that Chris is too much of a werewolf sympathizer. If things keep going like this, he’ll never let Chris continue to raise Allison, even if he has to kidnap her and take her to Timbuktu.

“Jesus,” Chris mutters, as he pulls into his driveway. Kate’s car is parked outside, and he’s no more prepared to deal with her now than he had been when he had left the Hale house. He steels his nerves as he gets out of the car and heads inside.

Kate is in the kitchen, drinking one of his beers. “Two more bodies dropped,” she says brusquely.

“I know. I went to talk to Peter.” Chris lets out a breath. “It wasn’t him. It was Laura. I guess seeing you the other day at dinner must have triggered something in her, woken her up somehow. Peter would use her as a sounding board sometimes – it was probably pretty easy for her to figure out who Stalls was and go from there.”

Kate sets the beer down on the counter. “Where’s Laura now?”

“At the Hale house, still. She wasn’t in any condition to leave, and it’s not like Peter would have let me take her.”

“Guess not.” Kate studies him for a moment. “So are we going or what?”

“No.” Chris shakes his head. “God, Kate, you – you didn’t even ask what I meant.”

“Meant by what?”

“When I said seeing you had triggered something in her. Why would seeing _you_ have triggered Laura to kill people involved in the fire? Unless you were involved. That’s why you’ve had your back up about this whole thing. Because you knew someone was coming for the people who set the fire . . . and that meant they were coming for you.”

Kate sighs. “So I guess you’re going to make a big deal out of this. Figured.”

Chris can barely squeeze the words out. His stomach is churning, and his throat is tight and sore. “Just tell me why.”

“Why what?”

“Why _what_?” Chris echoes. “Jesus Christ, Kate! Why did you set the fire? Why did you kill an entire _family_? Innocent people, children!”

“Werewolves!” Kate replies, exasperated. “Oh my God, Chris, who honestly gives a shit? It’s population control! First you had a werewolf couple and then their two werewolf kids, whatever. Then a cousin comes to town, they’re getting married, having kids, turning humans! Next thing you know, there’s dozens of them – ”

“Stop,” Chris says. “Just – just stop talking. They’re – you killed eight people. Two of them were kids, and I know you _meant_ to kill more kids than that. That’s sick, Kate. You’re sick.”

Kate rolls her eyes. “Jesus, Chris, what’s happened to you? Ten years ago – ”

“Ten years ago I was a different person, that’s true,” Chris says, “but I never would have killed innocents. _Never_. You can take that right the fuck outside, Kate. You broke the Code.”

“Oh, here we go. You and your Code boner.” Kate folds her arms over her chest. “You know that nobody gives a shit about the Code besides you, right? Like, seriously, why do we still listen to some eighteenth century French chick, for – ”

“Don’t change the subject,” Chris says. “We have to figure out what to do now.”

Kate’s arms drop to her side, one of them casually brushing against her holster. “Meaning?”

“You know Peter Hale is going to kill you, right?” Chris says. “Do you think you have a chance in hell of stopping him?”

“We would,” Kate says, putting heavy emphasis on the first word.

Chris shakes his head. “I’m not going to stand between the two of you. You killed his family, his _wife_. You tried to kill his children. Sorry, Kate, if you want to throw down, you’re on your own.”

“So what’s your suggestion?” Kate asks. Her voice is layered with sarcasm, and she clearly doesn’t expect him to have an answer.

“Confess,” Chris says, and Kate blinks at him. “I’ll drive you to the police station. Confess to the murder of the Hale family, and you’ll go to jail. He won’t be able to get to you there.”

“You’re fucking serious right now, aren’t you,” Kate says, and Chris just nods. She rolls her eyes again. “Yeah, Chris, I’m going to confess and go to jail. God, what is it like in that head of yours? Forget it. I’m out of here.”

Chris puts up an arm to block her exit. “You know I can’t let you leave. He’ll kill you.”

“Well, your options are pretty fucking limited, aren’t they?” Kate replies. “Either help me kill him first, or get out of my way and I’ll take my chances.”

“Kate, I’m not – ”

“Dad?” Allison asks timidly from the doorway, still dressed in her pajamas. “What’s going on?”

Chris’ gaze shifts over to her for a bare instant, but it’s an instant too long. Kate draws her gun and fires before he can react, and he stumbles backwards. Allison screams, and Kate grabs her by the wrist. “Time to go, honey,” she says brightly. “Peter likes you. Maybe you can – ”

“Kate,” Chris coughs out, and he tastes blood in his mouth. He looks down to see blood soaking through his shirt. He presses his hand against the wound to slow the bleeding, holding himself up with the wall. His legs are starting to feel weak.

“Oh, nut up, you big baby,” Kate says. “You’ll live, as long as you get an ambulance in a few minutes.” She turns and heads for the front door instead, dragging Allison along with her. Allison’s fighting her for every inch, screaming and thrashing, but Kate is much stronger than she is. Chris staggers after them, catching himself on the kitchen table. “Jesus, Chris!” Kate snarls, still trying to pull Allison along. “Don’t follow me, you moron, you’ll just end up hurting yourself. Call yourself an ambulance and stay put.”

“Go if you want,” Chris coughs out, “but leave Allison here. Please.”

“I won’t hurt her,” Kate says. “Now stay down or I’ll shoot you again, I swear to God.”

“Dad, please,” Allison sobs. “Please, you’re hurting yourself. You need to call 911. I’ll be okay.”

Chris can’t argue anymore. He can’t feel his legs, and the world is starting to go blurry around the edges. He grabs the wall and eases himself down, fumbling for his phone. When he looks up again, Allison and Kate are gone.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

“Stay here,” Peter says to Laura as he gets out of the car, despite being one hundred percent sure that she won’t obey. It’s fine. He knows where she’ll be when he needs her. He’s left the car parked at the end of the street so Kate won’t hear him coming.

The only words Laura had spoken on the drive to Chris’ house were, “How do you know she’ll be there?”

“She knows she can’t take us alone. She’ll need Chris’ help. And if she doesn’t know about the new bodies yet, it doesn’t matter. Chris is going to call her, have her come over.” Peter saw Laura scowling but didn’t flinch. “It’s why we let him go, Laura. He won’t want her to get away with what she’s done, but she’s still his sister. He’ll at least want to give her a chance to explain herself. It’s the way he is.”

Laura didn’t reply, and Peter focused on the drive. Now he bounds up the hill towards Chris’ house and smiles when he sees Kate’s car parked on the street, a smile that shows teeth.

It vanishes a few moments later when Kate emerges from the house, half-dragging Allison with her. Even from fifty feet away, Peter can smell Allison’s fear. He stops right in front of Kate’s car, and she sees him before she can take another step  She doesn’t hesitate; Peter will give her that. She has her gun trained on him and fires twice in rapid succession. He ducks behind the car, and hears her give a muffled curse.

“You don’t think you’re getting away, do you?” Peter calls out to her.

“Depends,” Kate replies. “How much do you like my brother?”

Peter glances at the door to the house. Chris wouldn’t have wanted to let Kate go, that’s certain. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing that’ll kill him . . . _if_ he gets medical attention immediately. Or hey, you could give him the bite, since he likes werewolves so much all of a damn sudden!”

Peter glances around the car’s bumper, and Kate fires again. He pulls back and says, “Allison?”

“She, she shot him,” Allison says, her voice breathy and high-pitched. “In the chest. He tried to come after us but I told him not to, that he needed to, to call an ambulance for himself.”

“Uh huh.” Peter can’t hear the sirens yet, but it won’t be long. Beacon Hills has good response time. “Okay, Kate. If I go to help Chris, will you shoot me?”

“Go around the back of the car,” Kate says.

“All right.” Peter takes a few cautious step backwards. “Leave Allison with me.”

“Why should I?” Kate asks.

Peter walks around the back end of the car. Kate immediately has her gun trained on him again, but she doesn’t fire. “Think about it, Kate. Think about your options. Even if those bullets have wolfsbane in them, you can’t have many left in the clip. Four, probably? Which means you won’t be able to take me down before I tear out your throat. You might kill me, but you won’t live through it.”

Kate’s finger tightens on the trigger. “Or?”

“The reason you brought Allison outside is because you know I won’t hurt her,” Peter says, and gestures at the car door.

Kate nods. She walks carefully towards the car, keeping Allison between the two of them. At the last second, she shoves Allison forward so hard that she goes stumbling. Peter catches her before she can fall, and by then, Kate’s gotten into the car and slammed the door. A bare second later, the engine is on and she’s floored it.

“Are you – ” Allison starts, just before Laura jumps out in front of Kate’s car. Kate sees who it is and doesn’t swerve or brake. She hits Laura hard. The impact tosses her to the side of the road, but it shatters the front end of Kate’s car. The back end lifts off the ground with the impact, then crashes back down. Allison gives a little scream.

“Allison, go inside,” Peter says smoothly. “Help your father, make sure he’s called 911 and apply a compress to stop the bleeding. I’ll be inside in a minute.”

Allison hesitates. “Is Laura – ”

“Laura will be fine. Go on, now.” Peter gives her a little shove, and she jogs back into the house.

Peter walks over to the car. Kate wasn’t going fast enough to total it, but it won’t be going anywhere. She hadn’t taken the time to fasten her seat belt, and she’d gone through the windshield and is lying in the street. “You all right, Laura?” Peter calls over to his niece, who gives a little cough and then a ragged confirmation. Peter stops by where Kate is trying to get to her feet, although she’s clearly got serious injuries. “Well, now. What should we do with you?”

“Fuck,” Kate wheezes.

Peter grabs her by the wrist and drags her back over to the car. “Let’s just pretend you stayed in here,” he says, hoisting her up and depositing her back in the driver’s seat through the front windshield. “You know, cars don’t actually explode like they do in the movies . . . but if the gas tank has ruptured, they do burn pretty well.” He scents the air. “I do smell gasoline. You?”

“Fuck you,” Kate spits out, trying to get out of the car. She pushes herself up and over the steering wheel, but can’t get enough leverage to get out.

Peter takes the box of matches out of his jacket pocket. He lights one and watches the little flame flicker for a moment. “I’m going to give you one chance, Kate. Apologize. Say that you’re sorry for decimating my family.”

Kate’s throat works for a moment before she rasps, “I’m sorry.”

Peter studies her. “No, you’re not,” he says, and drops the match into a puddle of gasoline. Kate screams. “You’re only sorry you got caught.”

He watches the car burn. Kate is still fighting to get free. He can hear the sirens now, but by the time they get here, it’ll be too late.

Laura walks up beside him, one arm giving a little crack as she pops a broken bone back into place. “You should go check on Chris,” she says.

Peter glances at her. “You don’t mind?”

“No.” Laura reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. “I’ll bear witness.”

After a moment, Peter nods and turns back towards Chris’ house. Kate is still screaming as he goes inside.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	17. Chapter 17

 

Allison focuses on her breathing as the EMT helps her into the cab of the ambulance. She keeps feeling panic rising up into her throat in little bubbles, and has to swallow them down. Once inside, she had heard the crash, but not much else. Peter had come back inside, looking calm and unruffled. He knelt beside Chris, who was still semi-conscious, helping Allison apply pressure to the wound. “Exit wound?” he asked her, and she shook her head.

“Is he going to be okay?” she asked, trying to stay calm.

“There are certainly worse places to get shot. Probably has broken ribs, maybe a punctured lung.” Peter cocked his head to one side and said, “I can hear the sirens, so the paramedics will be here soon. They’ll get you a chest tube and you’ll be right as rain,” he added to Chris, who didn’t try to respond. To Allison, Peter added, “He’ll be all right. He’s a tough guy, right?”

Allison managed a teary nod, and then the paramedics were there. Peter addressed one of them, saying that it seemed like Chris’ sister had shot him and then crashed her car trying to get away, although he hadn’t witnessed the former. They got Chris onto a stretcher and helped him into the ambulance, and now Allison is sitting in the front seat, trying not to get hysterical.

At the hospital, Chris is almost immediately whisked away to get treated. Allison is left sitting in the emergency room waiting, crying silently. She realizes she doesn’t see Peter anywhere, and has no idea where he went. Wouldn’t he have followed them to the hospital? Where would he have gone? Did he get arrested for killing Kate, which Allison is very sure he did?

“Allison, sweetheart,” a kind voice says, and she looks up to see Melissa. “Here, I brought you something to drink.”

Allison snuffles despite herself and sips the drink, which is hot chocolate. “Where’s my dad? Is he okay?”

“He’s being treated now, honey. It’s a pretty simple procedure. None of his major arteries were hit, so unless there are unexpected complications, he should be okay. Now, I can’t stay with you, but it shouldn’t be more than an hour or so before he’s out of surgery. Will you be okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” Allison says, trying to put on a brave smile. “I’m okay.”

Once Melissa is gone, she takes out her phone, hesitates, and then texts Peter. ‘Where did you go?’

She’s half-expecting Peter to ignore her, but he replies almost immediately. ‘Sorry, I had some things I needed to take care of. I’ll come check on you later.’

Allison gives this message the side-eye, but decides against arguing. A few minutes later, a police officer she doesn’t know comes in and sits down with her. She tells him mostly the truth. She had heard her father and aunt arguing, and gotten out of bed to see what it was about. She saw Kate shoot Chris. She leaves out the part where Kate had dragged her out the door, saying only that Kate had left and she had stayed with her father. She says she heard Kate crash her car but doesn’t know why it happened.

He nods and takes notes and then asks a question she doesn’t understand. Well, she understands what he’s asking, but not why. “Did you see Kate put the gun down?”

Allison blinks at him. “No? I don’t think so. I think she brought it with her.” She knows Kate brought the gun with her, because she fired at Peter outside.

“Neighbors reported hearing multiple shots,” the police officer says. “Did you see Kate fire more than once?”

“N-No, just once,” Allison says, hands twisting in her lap nervously. “I guess I might have heard more shots? I don’t know. I was trying to help my dad, and, and it all happened really fast.”

He nods and says, “Okay, let’s go over it again.”

She’d rather not, but that doesn’t appear to be an option. They’ve just gotten to the end a second time, and he’s looking through his notes with a faint frown, and then asks, “What was Peter Hale doing there?”

“I don’t know,” Allison says, truthfully. “I mean, Peter is my dad’s boyfriend? But I don’t know why he came over. I guess he might have been staying the night and I didn’t realize? I went to bed pretty early.”

“Was Peter there when you – ”

“Hey, Kyle!” Tom Stilinski jogs up, waving his hand. “Hey, I’ll take it from here. Benson asked if you could go talk to the ballistics guy. They found a couple shell casings in the road.”

“Sure, okay,” the officer says, getting to his feet.

Tom takes his seat and waits until he’s gone, then asks Allison, “You okay?”

“No!” she bursts out, trying to hold back tears. “Dad got shot and I don’t know if he’s going to be okay and Peter’s going to go to jail and I’m scared!”

“Peter’s not going to go to jail,” Tom says, squeezing Allison’s hand. “As far as anyone can tell, Kate crashed the car after hitting something in the road. I don’t know what it was, but it sure as hell wasn’t Peter.” He frowns, then adds, “Well, I suppose it could have been. Werewolf and all. But I can’t put that in my official report, so . . .” He shakes his head a little. “Don’t worry about Peter. But why the hell, uh, heck did Kate shoot your dad?”

“She killed the Hales,” Allison says, and understanding dawns on Tom’s face. “I heard them argue about it. I don’t know how my dad found out, but he wanted her to, to turn herself in. Said that if she didn’t, Peter would kill her, and he wasn’t going to get in Peter’s way.” She swallows hard and says, “After she shot him, she tried to take me with her. I think she thought she could use me as a human shield or something. She shot at Peter a few times, that’s what the other gunshots were. Then she let me go, and Peter told me to go inside and help my dad.”

“Okay.” Tom reaches out and pulls Allison into a hard half-hug. “Just don’t worry about any of this, okay? I’ll sweep it under whatever rug it needs to get swept under.”

Allison nods. After a moment, Tom lets her go and says, “Do you know where Peter is now?”

“No. I, uh, I texted him and he just said he had things he needed to do.”

Tom opens his mouth, then closes it and just shakes his head. “Okay. You stay here. You can call me if you need anything, okay?”

She gives another nod and a watery smile. He gets up and leaves, and another ten minutes go by before a nurse she doesn’t know walks over to her. “Okay, your dad is out of surgery, everything went well,” she says, giving her a smile. “It’ll be a little while before they get him settled into a room, and then I’ll come get you. Okay?”

“Okay,” she says, feeling the tension leave her body. It’s so much of a relief that she ends up a little drowsy. She looks at her phone and sees that it’s nearly four AM. She yawns widely and curls up in the chair, and promptly falls asleep.

A few hours later, someone comes and wakes her. They give her a sandwich and a chocolate milk and bring her upstairs. Chris is lying in a hospital bed in a room by himself. He’s still asleep, but the nurse says that he’ll probably be waking up pretty soon. Allison sits back down and watches the monitors, glad that her father is covered with a blanket and she can’t see much of him.

She dozes off again, and doesn’t wake until there are voices in the room. Her father’s voice is one of them, and she bolts out of her chair. “Dad!”

“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice is rusty, but intelligible. “You okay?”

“Am I okay? You were shot!”

“I’m fine,” Chris says, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder.

She looks at the doctor for confirmation, and he smiles slightly at the expression on her face. “He’ll be laid up for a few days and have to take it easy for a few weeks after that, but yes, he’s going to be okay,” he says. He talks for a few minutes about rehabilitation and home care and other stuff that Allison is really too tired to worry about.

Finally, he leaves, and Chris says, “Are you here by yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“Where’s Peter?”

“I don’t know. He said he had things he needed to do.”

Chris looks a little wary, but he doesn’t ask Allison for more details. At least, not about that. Instead, he clears his throat and says, “I probably shouldn’t ask you, but do you know what happened to Kate?”

“Not . . . not exactly,” Allison says. “Deputy Stilinski said she crashed her car. I’m sure Peter killed her, but I don’t know how.”

Chris lets out a slow breath. “Don’t worry about it. Is my phone here?”

Allison looks around for it, then says, “I don’t see it. Did you put it down after getting home, or would it have been in your pants pocket?”

“I don’t remember, to be honest. If it’s not here, it’s probably at home. Can I borrow yours?”

“Sure.” Allison digs her phone out of her pocket and hands it over.

She doesn’t ask what he’s doing, but it becomes apparent a moment later. He taps the screen a few times, puts the phone to his ear, and then huffs out a quiet sigh. “Peter, it’s me,” he says to the voicemail that picked up. “Whatever happened with Kate, it . . . it’s fine. Please come see me when you get the chance and let me know that you’re okay.” He hangs up and hands the phone back to Allison. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

Allison nods. “Yeah. I mean, it was super scary, but you’re going to be okay, and . . . everything will work out somehow, right?”

“Right,” Chris says. His eyes droop a little and he yawns despite himself. “I’ve got to get some more sleep.”

“Okay. I’m not going anywhere.” Allison drags the chair over to the bed and rests her face against her father’s shoulder. A few moments later, they’re both asleep.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

“You look like shit,” Tom greets Peter at the Starbucks.

“Good morning to you, too,” Peter says. “I haven’t slept in two days, and I’ve got a lot to do, so let’s make this quick.”

Tom pauses before taking a sip of his coffee. “Do I even want to know what you have to do?”

“Even if you did, I wouldn’t tell you. I assume you want to talk to me about Kate.”

“Off the record,” Tom says, and he sees Peter give him a skeptical look. “Come on, Peter. Now that I know about werewolves, I know I can’t throw you in jail, so if you killed Kate, you might as well admit it.”

“Well, that sort of depends on how you define it,” Peter says, and Tom looks unimpressed. “She lost control of her vehicle without any help from me.”

“Okay,” Tom says, “but she can’t have gotten up that much speed. Enough for the crash to kill her?”

Peter shrugs. “So it would seem.”

Tom rubs a hand over his face. “Okay. You clearly aren’t going to talk to me about that, so I’m just going to write in my little notebook that you’re obviously guilty, since cars don’t naturally burst into flames and there would definitely be some poetic justice in Kate burning to death.” Tom waits, but Peter says nothing. “But here’s my concern. Why are you here?”

Peter glances at him and frowns. “Because you texted me, threatening to arrest me if I didn’t meet you here.”

“Let me rephrase: why were you not at the hospital, with Chris, thus forcing me to text you to meet me?”

“Ah. That.” Peter sips his coffee. “As I said. I have things to do.”

“What things?”

Tom clearly expects that Peter won’t answer, but he does, setting down his coffee cup and saying, “I’m taking steps to make sure that Chris is safe while he’s incapacitated.”

“Safe from what?” Tom asks, with narrowed eyes.

“His father, obviously.”

Tom taps his pen against the table. “Okay. From what you told me, I can see how he might turn up to cause trouble now. But I’m a little concerned about what sort of preparation you’re planning. There are options – ”

“There really aren’t,” Peter says. “Gerard hasn’t broken any laws, at least not that we have proof of. And I’m not going to wait for him to hurt Chris or Allison before I do something about him. I’m sure you have all sorts of reasons why you think that’s a terrible idea, but to be honest, I really don’t care.”

Tom sighs. “Look. Peter. You killed Chris’ sister, but you did it because she killed your family. I can overlook that, not that you care about what I think. But you do care about what Chris thinks. If you kill his father – ”

“I will do what I have to do to protect my pack,” Peter says. “If that upsets Chris, so be it.”

“Just . . .” Tom pinches the bridge of his nose. “Be careful. Okay? And make damned sure that I can’t track it back to you.”

“Roger that,” Peter says, and leaves the café. He heads back to the house to check on the kids. Sophie is whining and fussy, upset that he’s been gone so long. Cora is quiet, and resists his attempts to give her a hug. Only Benjamin is acting normally, too young to understand the situation. Peter finds Laura in her room, pulling her hair into a ponytail. “You ready to go?”

Laura nods. “Just waiting on you.”

“Great. Let’s get moving.” He waves her out of the room, and she follows.

Derek is standing awkwardly by the door to the garage. “I could come with you,” he says. “I could help.”

“You are helping,” Peter says. “You’re staying here and protecting the children.” When he sees Derek about to protest, he says, “I’m not just trying to make you feel better. There’s a chance, even if it’s a small one, that Gerard will come here. I need you alert and on your toes. Call me at the first sign of trouble. Do you understand?”

Derek nods, subdued. “Okay.”

Peter reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. “Once this is all taken care of, we’ll sit down and talk. All of us. Okay?”

“Okay,” Derek repeats in a mumble.

Peter lets out a breath and turns to Laura. “Let’s go.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Allison looks up when she hears footsteps, hoping that it’s Peter, but it’s not. It’s Gerard. Her stomach drops into her shoes. She tries for a smile and says, “Hi, Grandpa.”

Hearing this, Chris opens his eyes. “Dad,” he says, although it’s mostly a mumble.

“Hello, Chris,” Gerard says, his voice low and gravelly. “How are you feeling?”

“All right,” Chris says, clearly coming awake by degrees. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, Kate called me yesterday. Said she was going to need backup, and funny thing, she didn’t think she’d be able to depend on you. I came as quick as I could, but apparently I wasn’t quick enough.”

Chris lifts a hand and rubs it over his face. “Kate would never call you for help. She knows better.”

“You’re right,” Gerard agrees. “She actually just called me up to complain about how unhelpful you were being. I took it upon myself to come check things out. I assume you heard about what happened to her,” he adds, and Chris says nothing. “Burned alive in her own car.”

Allison winces a little, but Chris keeps a straight face and says, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Are you, Chris?” Gerard asks. “Are you really?”

“She broke the Code,” Chris says, meeting his father’s gaze.

“She was your sister,” Gerard says. “Your family.”

“I tried to help her,” Chris says. “I told her to turn herself in, because that was the best way to keep her safe from Peter. She wouldn’t listen. She _shot_ me, and then she ran. I’m sorry she’s dead. I honestly am. But her death isn’t on my head, and I won’t let you put it there.”

Gerard studies him for a long minute, slowly shaking his head. Then he says, “So be it, then. Come on, Allison.”

Allison blinks up at him. “What?”

“Well, your father is going to be laid up for a few days, maybe even weeks,” Gerard says. “Someone’s going to need to look after you. It’ll be a great opportunity to get your training started.”

Allison shakes her head, edging closer to her father. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Oh, one way or another, you are,” Gerard says. His hand darts out like a snake and he grabs the call button just before Chris can. “They must have you pretty doped up, huh, Chris? But I don’t want you trying to come after us. You might hurt yourself, after all. Don’t worry, I brought . . .” He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and withdraws a syringe.

“No!” Allison protests, trying to grab for it. Gerard backhands her, and she goes ass over teakettle, knocking down a chair on the way.

“Allison!” Chris tries to sit up, but Gerard puts a hand on his chest and pushes him back down.

“Don’t make this any harder than it has to be, Chris,” he says, carefully lining up the syringe with the intake of Chris’ IV. “You’ve known for a while that it was going to happen. I gave you every chance to prevent it, but you had to be stubborn about it. So now we’ll do this my way. What do you think we should start with?” he asks, as Allison struggles to her feet. “It’s a good time for basic survival training, I think. Always have to do that in the winter. Do you like rabbits, Allison?”

“What?” Allison asks, more confused than anything else.

“You seem like the type who would like cute little bunny rabbits,” Gerard says. “So here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to drive us out into the wilderness. Give you a knife, some matches. I’ll even set up a few snares for you. How many days do you think you’ll be out there before you kill one of those little bunnies and eat it?”

“Gross!” Allison protests. “No way will I do that!”

“Oh, but you will, though,” Gerard says. “I’ll leave you out there until you do.”

Allison looks automatically at Chris, who’s still struggling to sit up. “Don’t,” he says. “Dad, you can’t – ”

“I can and I will,” Gerard says. “Look at her crying. Soft as a baby’s skin, this one. I’ll fix her up right, Chris, don’t you worry about that. No one will be able to hurt her once I’m done – ”

“Hurting her?” Chris grits out, collapsing back to the pillows and taking in a wheezing breath.

Gerard pushes the plunger down on the syringe. “Something like that.”

“Daddy!” Allison grabs for the syringe.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” Gerard says. “It’s just a sedative. He’s the type who’ll get up from his hospital bed to try to get to you. By the time it wears off, we’ll be long gone.”

“You’re not taking me anywhere!” Allison shoots back, crying from both fear and anger. “I’ll scream, someone will help me – ”

Gerard just smiles at her, a cold, hard smile. “Scream if you want. I’ll tell them you’re upset because I’m making you leave while your father gets some rest. I’m your grandfather, I’m here to take care of you. Which one of us are they going to believe?”

“I – ”

“If you give me trouble, I’ll have to punish you,” Gerard says. “Do you want shoes during your survival training, Allison? Do you want to do it at two thousand feet or at six thousand? There are lots of ways I can make it harder on you. But you know what? I think you’re a smart girl. Not very tough, maybe, but smart. I think you know that coming along quietly is your best option here. Right?”

Allison looks back at her father. His eyes have fluttered shut, hand relaxed from where it was reaching for her. She swallows hard and tries to think. “O-Okay,” she says.

“Good girl.” Gerard’s hand squeezes her shoulder like a vise, and he steers her out of the room. She’s silent as they walk past the nurse’s station and into the elevator, through the lobby and into the parking lot. She’ll have to wait until they’re on the road. Then she can jump out of the car. It’ll hurt, but if she runs, he won’t be able to catch up with her. He’s an old man, and she knows she’s fast. She’s been thinking about trying out for the track team.

But when they get to the car, he guides her around to the side and into the passenger seat, then opens the glove compartment and takes out a bag of zip ties. “What – ” she says, as he gets one around her wrist and secures her to the grab handle. “Hey!”

He takes her other wrist and ties it to the seat belt buckle. “Don’t want you running off on me,” he says, and shuts the car door. She tugs at the restraints desperately, and the plastic digs into her skin. Gerard walks around the car, and he’s just reached for the door handle when Allison hears a loud pop. Gerard staggers and then collapses to the ground.

Allison stops struggling and watches with her mouth slightly open as a dark figure emerges from the other side of the parking lot. He walks over to Gerard, and Allison hears two more gunshots. Then, just as casually, he walks over to the other side of the car and opens the door. It’s Peter. Allison bursts into tears.

“Easy now, I’ve got you,” Peter says soothingly, as he uses a knife to cut through the zip ties. “You’re safe, I’ve got you.” He gets his arms around her and lifts her out of the car, setting her on her feet. She’s sobbing quietly, and he takes her chin in one hand. “Allison, we don’t have very much time, so I need you to take a deep breath and focus. Can you do that for me?”

Allison stifles a fresh sob and does as she’s told. She lets the breath out slowly, then nods.

“Good girl,” Peter says, and it’s infinitely more kind coming from him than it had been from Gerard. “Did you touch anything in the car with your hands?”

“No. H-He zip-tied me before I could.”

“Okay.” Peter is wiping down the gun. He uses the same cloth to hold it as he slides it underneath the seat. She notices that he’s wearing gloves. “Here’s what’s going to happen now. We’re going to walk back inside and go up to your father’s room. If anyone asks, you and Gerard ran into me on the way out, and I offered to stay with you and drop you off later, so you wouldn’t have to leave your father here alone. He walked into the parking lot, we went into the hospital, and you didn’t see what happened to him.”

“Okay,” Allison says, sniffling but wiping her nose hastily.

“Okay. Come on.” He gestures but doesn’t touch her, and she starts walking. They head into the hospital, and he heads for the stairs rather than the elevator. She follows him. Laura is waiting in the first stairwell. He strips off his gloves and hands them to her, and she goes down the stairs while they continue up. A minute later, they’re back in Chris’ room. She rushes over to her father and looks at the monitors to see his heart beating steadily.

“H-How did you know w-where I’d be?” she manages to ask Peter.

“Oh, it was obvious that Gerard would come for you as soon as he found out Kate was dead,” Peter says. He gently touches Chris’ wrist, then sits down in the chair next to the bed. “I just had to find out what kind of car he was driving and then wait for him.”

“How did you get a gun? Why did you leave it in the car?”

“It was Kate’s,” Peter says. “It got tossed from the car when it crashed, so I picked it up. And since it wasn’t registered to me and I didn’t leave any prints on it, I could leave it at the crime scene without it being tied back to me. Better to do that than risk getting caught with it. It’ll confuse them a bit, trying to figure out why Kate’s gun was there, hours after her death.”

“Won’t people s-suspect?”

“Oh, certainly,” Peter says, “but there’s no way to prove it. Gerard was thoughtful enough to park in the security camera’s blind spot, presumably in case you kicked up a fuss. So nobody saw me.” He smiles at her and says, “As long as you and I don’t tell, nobody will ever know for sure. Any more questions?”

Allison nods. “Can – can I have a hug?”

Peter’s face softens. He reaches out and pulls Allison into his lap, holding her tightly. She muffles her sobs in his shoulder. “Shhh, it’s all right. You’re safe now. As long as I’m alive, you’ll be safe.”

“I’m s-s-sorry,” Allison manages.

“What are you sorry for?” Peter asks, smoothing down her hair.

“Crying?” Allison says. “Needing to be rescued? Not b-being brave l-like you and my dad?”

“Allison, sweetheart, you’re twelve,” Peter says, amused, but not unkindly so. “Gerard is – _was_ – a vicious, sadistic, controlling adult man. I wouldn’t have expected you to be able to get away from him. Needing to be protected now and again doesn’t mean you’re not brave. Protecting each other is what pack is all about.”

Allison manages another snuffle. “Okay.”

“Now get some rest, okay?” he says. “I’ll be right here.”

“Okay,” she says again, and rests her face against his shoulder. Crying has left her exhausted, and she falls asleep within moments.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	18. Chapter 18

 

The world flickers on and off for Chris several times before he comes back to full consciousness. He sucks in a breath as memory crashes back over him, and croaks, “Allison,” looking around wildly.

“Daddy!” Allison cries out, and Chris’ entire body fills with relief as she throws herself at him.

“Careful now, take it easy,” Peter says, scruffing her as if she were an unruly pup before she can climb up onto the bed. She pouts at him, and Chris reaches out, running his hand over her hair and the back of her neck. “She’s all right, Chris. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Chris manages to get one of Allison’s hands in his, so he can clutch at her without having to sit up. “What . . . what happened?” he manages, trying to put the fuzzy pieces together to make some sort of full picture. “Where’s my father?”

He hears a man clear his throat, and looks over to see Tom sitting in the corner, in his uniform and looking somewhat sour. “Unfortunately, I’m going to have to ask you a couple questions before anyone can answer yours,” he says, and Chris blinks at him. “When was the last time you saw your father?”

“It was this morning, I think . . . I don’t know how long I’ve been unconscious, so I don’t know how long ago that was.” Chris looks between Tom’s squared jaw and Peter’s serene expression. He treads cautiously, careful not to say too much. “He was going to take Allison home.”

Tom nods, tapping the end of his pen against a little pad of paper that he’s not writing on. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but your father’s been killed,” he says, and it takes all of Chris’ formidable self-control not to automatically look at Peter. “He was shot in the hospital parking lot, pretty much right after he left your room.”

“Shot?” Chris is a little puzzled by this. It doesn’t seem like Peter’s style.

“Mm hm,” Tom says.

Peter smiles innocently and says, “I was coming here to visit and ran into them just as they were leaving. Allison said she wanted to stay longer, so I told Gerard I could drop her off home later, that there was no need to tear her from your side. He went out into the parking lot and I’m afraid that’s the last time I saw him.”

“Mm hm,” Tom says again.

Chris looks between the two men and says, “Oh. I . . . oh.”

“I’ll keep you posted on the investigation,” Tom says, and exits the hospital room, shaking his head.

Peter watches him go, then when he’s a safe distance away, turns back to Chris and says, “Don’t mind him. He’s a little sour about having to go through the motions when he knows damned well I killed Gerard. I don’t think he approves of vigilante justice.”

Chris decides he’ll deal with that in a minute. He looks at Allison, caresses her cheek and her hair. “You’re okay? Truly?”

Allison nods and says, “It . . . it was scary, but Peter rescued me. He made sure Gerard didn’t hurt me.”

Chris draws her into a hug, as much of one as he can manage while lying on his back. Allison nestles into it, and Chris looks over her head at Peter. “You _shot_ him?”

“Well, I didn’t want the police looking for another rabid cougar,” Peter says, rolling his eyes. “Besides, I don’t underestimate people. Gerard’s reputation didn’t come out of nowhere. Shooting him from a distance was the safest way to take care of him.”

“So you not only shot him . . . you sniped him.”

“Mm hm.” The smile is gone from Peter’s face now. “Is that a problem, Chris?”

Chris can’t meet his gaze. “You shot him in the back. You couldn’t even . . .”

Peter’s voice hardens. “I have children to raise and a pack to protect. I wasn’t going to show a man like Gerard Argent my throat. I don’t give a rat’s ass what he would have thought about my idea of honor, and I don’t care what you think about it much more. Honor is a good way to get yourself killed. Don’t tell me you’ve never taken a sniper shot.”

Allison looks between the two of them, then slowly withdraws from her father’s embrace. “I’m going to go get myself a soda,” she says, and trots out of the room.

“It’s not that I’ve never taken a sniper shot,” Chris says once she’s gone, the words carefully measured. “But my father was human. He could have faced justice without being killed.”

“None of us would have been safe as long as Gerard was alive,” Peter says. “Especially not you and Allison. I wasn’t going to take that risk. Besides, what was I going to do? Call the police? He would’ve said he was taking Allison home. With you unconscious, he was her next-of-kin. Even if I had tried to explain to them that you had told me you didn’t want him around her, the law would have been on his side. He would have disappeared with her, and you never would have seen her again. At least, not while she was still the Allison you raised. Is that what you want to have happened?”

“No,” Chris says, frustrated. “But can’t you see why I’m upset?”

At this, Peter’s face softens. “Of course I can. He was, for all his faults, your father. You have every right to be upset. But I don’t regret what I did, Chris. If it means I lose what we have, so be it. I don’t want it to. I’ll cry in my God damned whiskey, missing you. But I still won’t regret it. Because I did what I had to do, to protect my family and my pack, to protect _you_. That’s not something I’m going to apologize for.”

Chris takes a careful breath, and lets it out. “I think . . . I need a little time to process this.”

“Of course. A lot’s happened.” Peter stands up. “If you want to see me again, you know where to find me.”

He walks out of the room without another word. Chris closes his eyes and wrestles with everything that’s happened for a long minute. Then he hears Allison come back in, and she sits down next to the bed, resting her head on his shoulder. Chris cradles the back of her head with one hand and eventually falls back to sleep.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

It had taken several hours for the sedatives to wear off on Chris, so by the time Peter gets home, it’s late afternoon. Laura greets him quietly, without much emotion, and says Derek is in his room and the kids are watching a movie. He’s exhausted at the mere concept of getting dinner put together, so he orders take-out and settles onto the sofa so he can spend some quality time cuddling the children.

He’s a little worried that Derek won’t come down to eat, but he does. There’s not a lot of conversation. Peter tries to be as reassuring as possible, telling Sophie and Cora that everything is fine. The danger is gone, he’s taken care of everything. Sophie asks where Chris is, and Peter tells her the truth, that Chris was hurt and is in the hospital, but he’s going to be fine.

“You could go stay with him, if you wanted,” Derek says, pushing his food around on his plate. “Laura and I can watch the kids.”

“Ah, well,” Peter says, and swallows the inexplicable lump in his throat, “Chris doesn’t really want to see me right now.”

Derek blinks at him. Sophie scowls and says, “Is Chris being mean?”

“No, sweetheart,” Peter says. “Chris is just a little sad right now, because his sister turned out to be a bad person. He needs some space to work things out.”

“Okay,” Sophie says, satisfied by this explanation. She goes back to eating.

Peter takes solace in the routine of bathtime and bedtime. He reads both Benjamin and Sophie a story, even though Sophie’s getting old enough that she doesn’t ask for one every night. He even reads one to Cora, who has a barely-concealed ‘you have got to be kidding’ look on her face, but seems to understand that Peter is doing it for his own benefit, not for hers.

He comes back downstairs to find that Derek and Laura have cleaned up in the kitchen. “You didn’t have to do that,” he says, and Laura shrugs. He sighs and goes to find Derek.

Unsurprisingly, he’s up in his room, sitting with his sketchbook but not drawing anything. Peter sits down on Derek’s bed and pats the space beside him. Derek heaves a sigh and then goes to sit next to him, fiddling with his pencil.

“First things first,” Peter says. “I’m sorry, Derek. I knew you were hurting and I could never figure out why. I knew there was something I was missing but I didn’t want to push you. And in the end, that only caused you more pain. I can’t imagine what it was like for you, watching me develop a relationship with Chris, knowing what his sister had done, imagining him doing the same thing to me that Kate had done to you.”

“Well . . .” Derek’s lips twitch in a faint smile. “I knew he wasn’t. That was the only reason I could even look at him. Because Kate . . . she actually told me about him. I didn’t realize at first. But, you know, she talked about how much she loved being spontaneous and having fun, and how she had this killjoy older brother who always wanted to think about _consequences_ , about doing the right thing . . . and when I found out who Chris was, I realized that she’d been talking about him.”

Peter frowns a little, despite himself. “Why was she even telling you about him?”

“Because . . .” Derek lets out a breath. “I would complain to her about Mom and Dad being too strict, about Laura being a goody two-shoes. About how unfair it was that there were all these rules, and that I couldn’t do what I wanted . . .” He wipes his eyes. “I wanted so badly to be a grown up, Uncle Peter. I thought I was so mature, and I landed this super hot girlfriend, and . . . and she . . .”

Peter thinks, but doesn’t say, that Kate had played Derek like a harmonica. He reaches out and squeeze’s Derek’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was, though!” Derek protests. “Yes, she manipulated me, but I fell for it! Hook, line, and fucking sinker.” He bites back a sob. “She told me exactly what I wanted to hear and I was so full of myself that I didn’t even notice. I didn’t think it was weird that a hot twenty-five year old wanted to be with me. How could I have not realized?”

Peter’s quiet for a moment before he says, “Kate tailored her approach to your blind spots. That’s not your fault. We all have blind spots, Derek. She could have done the same to Michael, or even Laura. She just would have approached it differently. I don’t want to sing the praises of the woman who murdered our family, but she was clearly very intelligent and calculating.” He watches Derek hunch tighter and says, “I know it might take a long time for you to accept it, but it wasn’t your fault. What she did is on her head, and her head alone. If you don’t believe me yet, that’s fine. I’ll tell you as often as you need to hear it. I’m sorry I let her near you, sorry that I didn’t realize what she was until it was almost too late. But she’s gone now. She’ll never hurt us again. At least I was able to give you that much.”

Derek leans against him, wiping his eyes, and manages a weak smile. “You gave me more than that, though. All of us. Even knowing Kate was still out there, I felt safe with you as the alpha. At least until she came back to town. I knew you would protect us.”

“Well, that does make me feel a little better,” Peter says, and gives him a hug. “Get some sleep, okay?”

“Okay.”

Peter stands up and leaves Derek’s room, and heads into his own. He looks at the bed, neatly made, although the corners are a bit messy. Olivia had never made the bed, but Chris always did. He had lectured Peter on it until he had gotten into the habit, too, although he’d never been able to do it as precisely as Chris. He feels his eyes sting, and has to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. He turns and heads out of the room. He won’t be able to sleep in that bed without Chris.

He brings a blanket and a pillow downstairs, and settles down on the sofa. He’s been there for less than two minutes when Laura comes in. Peter sits up, glad for the distraction. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Laura sits down next to him. “I’m sorry for . . . everything.”

“Well, except for the part where you hit me over the head with a chair, it was all pretty understandable,” Peter teases gently, and Laura’s lips twitch. “You were right. I didn’t do my job, keeping the pack safe.”

“You did, though. What I said . . . I was unfair. I know that you had to focus on keeping us together, taking care of us. I know because you took care of me. I can remember almost everything. Sitting there, healing one cell at a time. There was just . . . so much pain. And every time I thought I couldn’t handle it anymore, you were there. Taking away the pain. I know how much you did for me. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

Peter squeezes her hand. “I’m still sorry that I didn’t kill her sooner.”

“You did when it counted. And . . . you did it knowing that you could lose Chris because of it. I know that must have been hard for you. I know that it’s _going_ to be hard for you, him being gone. So just . . . let us take care of you for a little while, okay? You deserve it. No matter what I said while I was half-crazy.”

Peter manages a smile. “How about we take care of each other?”

“Okay. That sounds pretty reasonable. Were you going to sleep down here tonight?”

Peter nods, feeling his eyes sting again. “The bed smells like him.”

“Want to put on a movie?”

“Sure.”

Laura gets up and heads over to their by-now-extensive collection of DVDs. She takes out a disc and slides it in, then settles back on the sofa. Peter curls up with his head in Laura’s lap and is asleep before the title menu comes up.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Chris has never been good at being an invalid. He’s had a couple severe injuries before – a broken ankle when he was twenty, and a cerebral contusion just a few months after Allison had been born. Both times, people had had to sit on him to keep him from getting up before he was allowed. Peter had had similar problems after the revenant attack, although he was usually able to circumvent Chris by having Sophie or Benjamin cuddle up to him in bed for ‘story time’.

Allison is giving him the side-eye as she helps him into the house. “You _are_ gonna do what the doctor said, right?” she asks, clearly dubious. She’s seen him after mild injuries or illnesses, so she knows his propensity to ignore medical advice.

“Yes, yes, straight to bed for me,” Chris says, and Allison nods in satisfaction. The truth is, he’s tired, and trying to avoid thinking about his problems.

It’s been five days since Kate shot him. He’s had to talk to several people in the interim about funerals and burial. He was the next-of-kin for both, although he doubts Gerard left him anything in his will. Frankly, he thinks he’s happier if he didn’t. So both Gerard and Kate are being cremated, and there will be no services.

The rest of the time, he was calling and e-mailing almost every hunter he knew, making sure nobody had any plans of reprisal against the Hales. Most of them required a great deal of convincing, and it was an exhausting endeavor. But despite his personal issues surrounding what Peter had done, he doesn’t want anybody coming after the Hales.

“What do you want for dinner?” Allison asks, tucking him in. He has to bite back a smile. “Ooh! I want Indian food, can I order from Curry Garden?”

“Sure,” Chris says, and settles more comfortably against his pillows.

He manages to stay in bed as instructed for almost an entire day, and although Allison fusses over him when he moves from the bed to the sofa, she doesn’t argue too much. She knows that there’s only going to be so much she can limit his activity. As long as he’s not doing pull-ups, she’ll let it slide. A few days later, she goes back to school, and makes him promise he won’t leave the sofa the entire time she’s gone.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to drive you?” he asks.

“Dad! You’re not supposed to be driving yet. I can survive taking the bus for a week. I’ll be _fine_.”

“Okay. Have a good day at school,” he says, and Allison leans over to kiss him on the cheek before she darts out the door. Chris sighs and settles in for the day.

Allison gets home about a half an hour later than usual, thanks to the bus, and immediately settles down with her homework. When she’s done, she goes into the kitchen to make dinner and glowers at Chris when he attempts to help. He sighs, but he’s actually a little amused. “You know, in some ways, you are very much like your mother.”

“In a good way?” Allison asks, giving him a sideways look.

“Definitely. She never hesitated to kick my ass when I needed it, either.”

Allison giggles, and flips the hamburgers. “It’s your own fault for needing it so much.”

“Hey,” Chris says, and tugs on her ponytail. “Don’t get fresh with me, missy. I can still ground you.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and turns back to dinner. But she’s a little more quiet and thoughtful as she makes a salad to go with the burgers. He gives her a questioning look as she ushers him into his seat, but she starts talking about school.

It’s not until they’re done eating that she says, “Can I ask you a question?” while she fiddles with her fork. “It’s about hunting.”

“Sure, honey,” Chris says, although he frowns a little. “What is it?”

“Well . . . you said there are monsters in the world, like trolls and ogres and stuff, right?” she says, and he nods. “So when you find one, what do you do with it?”

“It depends on what kind of monster it is,” Chris says. “Some monsters are sensitive to iron, for example – ”

“No, I mean, what do you _do_ with it?” Allison asks. “Do you kill it?”

Chris shifts uncomfortably. “Most of the time . . .”

“Most of the time?”

“Pretty much all of the time,” Chris says.

Allison looks thoughtful for a minute. “So . . . you kill monsters for a living. Which is really awesome, by the way. I wish I knew more people who know about all this stuff, so I could brag about how awesome you are. But I guess I just don’t understand why you think what Peter did was wrong.”

Chris sighs. “It’s not that Peter was wrong. I know that he did what he did to protect you. I know that any sort of ‘fair fight’ would have put him at risk.”

“So you’re upset with Peter because he was right?” Allison asks, sounding a little skeptical.

“I’m upset for a lot of reasons, Allison. I’m upset because my father and my sister were awful people. I’m upset because you nearly got hurt and I couldn’t protect you. It’s just . . . a lot.”

“Okay,” Allison says, sounding even more dubious. “But I think you’d feel better if you just talked to him.”

“Probably,” Chris says.

Allison gives him a look for a long moment, then mutters disgustedly, “Boys.”

Chris smiles slightly, amused despite himself. “Allison, if I could just flip a switch and be okay with all of this, I would. But you can’t just make yourself feel something. Sometimes, things like that take time.”

“I know, I just . . .” Allison folds her arms over her stomach. “I miss them.”

“I know. But just because things are a little weird between me and Peter doesn’t mean you have to give up your friends. If you want me to take you over there, I will, any time.”

Allison hesitates. “What if they don’t want me over there? I mean, what if they were only putting up with me because of you?”

Chris raises his eyebrows at her. “Does Cora Hale seem like the type of person who just ‘puts up with’ people she doesn’t want to be around?”

Allison giggles. “No.”

“Well, okay, then. Why don’t you text her and ask her if she wants to hang out?”

“Okay.” Allison leans over and kisses him on the cheek. “Thanks, Dad.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Peter glances up from where he’s folding laundry to see Cora come into the room, her phone clutched in one hand, looking uneasy. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing, exactly, it’s just . . .” Cora hunches up a little. “Allison texted me asking if I want to hang out this weekend, and I do, but I know things are weird between you and Chris, and I don’t want to contribute to the weirdness.”

“Ah.” Peter’s been anticipating this for several days, to be honest. He knows that Cora and Allison were good friends, and pre-teen girls aren’t good at not talking. Now that Chris is home and, presumably, medically stable, this was bound to happen. “I presume you two have been texting,” he says, since Cora spends ninety percent of her time on her phone these days. “Did she say if her father said it was okay?”

“Yeah. She said ‘Dad says I shouldn’t let his issues stop me from spending time with my friends’.”

Peter snorts, wondering if that’s Allison’s phrasing or Chris’. “In any case, it’s fine. I can drop you off somewhere, or Chris can drop her off here, if she wants.”

“Okay. She wants to go ice skating.”

“Sounds okay. Just be careful, try not to injure yourself in front of people.”

“Okay. Thanks, Uncle Peter.” Cora gives him a hug before she scampers off.

Two days later, he’s dropping her off at the ice skating rink. Laura has decided to go, too, and some of her friends are coming. Peter had invited them over a few days after Gerard’s death, not telling them that she was talking again, and enjoyed the tearful reunion. She drags Derek along, and Scott and Stiles are there, so it’s basically a party. Peter takes Sophie and Benjamin sledding while the others are at the rink, and it’s a lot of fun. A good day. He’s had precious few of those lately. Chris’ absence has left him with a hole in his life that seems intent to erase every ounce of joy he might feel. He reminds himself that it’s nothing compared to the hole Olivia made. Only the problem is, he still feels that one, too. Somehow, he’s ended up twice as empty.

“Uncle Peter, can Allison come stay the night?” Cora asks, as soon as he arrives to pick them up.

“Sure,” Peter says, and they all pile into the car. He looks at Allison, who is red-cheeked and smiling. “How’ve you been, Allison?”

“Fine, totally fine,” Allison says. “You know, I have to sit on Dad a lot because he’s really, really bad at convalescence. But other than that, fine.”

Peter laughs and starts back towards the house. “Will he be all right without you for one night?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah. I told him I was coming over and he said it was fine. Though he did ask if you could drop me off tomorrow morning because he can’t drive yet. Ms. McCall picked me up today.”

“Sure, no problem.”

He makes spaghetti for dinner, plays with the kids, gets them into bed. Cora and Allison are still giggling in their room when he goes to sleep. He gets donuts the next morning. It’s snowed overnight, although only a couple inches, so the kids go out and play for a little while. Then he drives Allison home.

Chris is in the driveway, shoveling, and Allison is out of the car before it’s come to a complete stop, shouting, “Dad! What the hell?!”

“Language,” Chris tells her.

“Count yourself lucky that ‘hell’ is the worst word I use when I come home to find my father shoveling instead of recuperating from his gunshot wound!” Allison huffs. “Oh my God! Come inside. The driveway can wait! I’ll do it later. Seriously, Dad, what the hell.”

Amused, Peter leans out of the car. “Need help, Allison?”

“No, I’ve got it handled,” she says.

Chris sees Peter and freezes. “Hi,” he says.

“Hello,” Peter replies. He has to squelch the urge to leap out of the car and tackle Chris. Bring him inside, wrap him in a blanket, sit on him until he agrees not to do anything else stupid. Hell, he’d take shoveling the driveway if it would make Chris let him back into his life. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay. You know.” Chris clears his throat. “Just some cabin fever.”

“Clearly,” Peter says, amused.

“We are going inside right now!” Allison says, hands on her hips. “Thanks for the ride, Peter. I’ll see you later.”

“Good luck with him,” Peter says, shaking his head as he backs out of the driveway and heads home.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, everybody!
> 
> *insert obligatory comment about how I am not planning a sequel although anything is possible if I got a good idea*

 

Chris is amused despite himself as Allison pushes him down onto the sofa and then practically snarls at him when he leans down to unlace his boots. “Let me do that! You’ve already moved around enough.” He raises his hands in surrender, privately thinking that his daughter has been spending too much time around werewolves if she’s actively snarling.

Once she’s gotten him out of his winter gear, she stands back and folds her arms over her chest. “What did you think you were doing?!”

“I was just restless,” he says. “Needed to move around for a bit. Don’t make such a big deal out of it.” Good Lord, why is he explaining himself to his twelve-year-old? He needs an intervention. “You worry too much,” he adds.

Allison rolls her eyes in a way that only a pre-teen girl can. “Oh, sure. Make _me_ the unreasonable one. Thanks, Dad.”

Chris winces, because he knows she’s right. “Look. I just – ”

“Oh my God, I can’t even with you!” Allison declares. “Will you please just talk to Peter before you hurt yourself? Thank you!” She huffs off without another word.

Chris lets his head rest against the back of the sofa, and thinks about the fact that he really _wants_ to talk to Peter. Primarily, he wants to text Peter and let him know that Allison has finally succumbed to pre-teen girl syndrome, or as Peter has occasionally called Cora, ‘Princess Bitchface’. He doesn’t really have a lot of friends that he talks to, and Peter just . . . Peter _gets_ him. Most of the time.

Of course he misses Peter. Peter’s the one he talks to about _everything_. There’s a large part of himself that wants to just throw himself in Peter’s lap and curl up there. He just can’t bring himself to do it, and the worst part is that he doesn’t really know why. Whenever he tries to untangle his feelings on the matter, he just ends up more miserable. He needs to talk it out with someone – but, of course, the person he likes to talk things out with is Peter.

Then again, there’s no rule saying he can’t talk about this to Peter, just because Peter is the person he’d be talking about. It would save him the horror of trying to explain all this to Tom or Melissa. And he is definitely going insane with the way he keeps talking himself in circles. The forced confinement isn’t helping, but that’s the real reason he can’t stop himself from doing stupid things like shoveling the driveway.

He thinks about it most of the day, but can’t come up with a better solution. So the next day, after Allison has left for school, he texts Peter a simple, ‘Can we talk?’ with absolutely no idea of what to expect in response.

Less than thirty seconds have gone by before Peter texts back, ‘Sure’, and then ‘In person or by text?’

‘In person. I still can’t drive yet. Could you come over?’

This time the pause is much longer, and he assumes that he’s talking to the others about whether or not they can watch Benjamin for a little while. Apparently the answer is yes, because he replies a few minutes later that he’ll be there in about twenty.

Chris paces back and forth while he waits, reminding himself that Peter has been pretty understanding, and that he just needs to be honest. It’s still a hell of a long twenty minutes before Peter shows up, kicking some snow off his boots before he comes inside. Chris knows he should launch right into things, but he stalls anyway, saying, “Want some tea?”

“Sure,” Peter says, not pushing him. He follows Chris into the kitchen and accepts the mug. Fresh, because brewing tea had given him something to do while he waited. He studies Chris over the rim of the mug while Chris clears his throat.

“I, uh . . . I thought a lot about what I wanted to say. And pretty much came up with nothing. I don’t want to say ‘I’m sorry’ because I don’t really think I was out of line, reacting the way I did. But I don’t really think you did anything wrong either, so I don’t want to say ‘I forgive you’ or anything like that. I don’t like the way we left things. I want to fix it. But I just . . . don’t know what to say.”

Peter leans against the table. “Maybe you don’t have to say anything,” he says. “Maybe we can just . . . hit reset. Leapfrog over it.”

Chris rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t think the fact that my sister killed your wife and your sister, along with six other people, and then you killed my sister and my father, is something we can just ‘leapfrog over’.”

Peter just shrugs as if to say he doesn’t see why not.

“I’m serious, Peter. I mean, we can’t just not talk about it. It would . . . fester, like a wound. That sort of thing would rear its head up the next time we had a problem.”

At this, Peter grimaces a little. “Lord, can you imagine? What starts as an argument over who forgot to load the dishwasher, and the next thing you know, you’re like ‘but then there was the time you murdered my father!’ and I’d totally lose the argument.”

Chris blinked at him, but then gives a snort of laughter. Before he knows it, he’s laughing so hard that he has to lean against the wall. Peter is laughing, too. After a minute, Chris manages, “You are such a jackass, you know that?”

“It is one of my many positive qualities.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

Peter gives a slight shrug. “I don’t know what to say, either. What is there to talk about? What your sister did is not your fault, so I don’t have any ill feelings towards you. If you don’t think I did anything wrong, as you said just a minute ago, then there isn’t really much to discuss.”

“There’s a difference between ‘not thinking you did anything wrong’ and ‘being okay with what you did’.”

Peter frowns. “I don’t see why.”

Chris pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s complicated.”

“I don’t think it is, though.” Peter is looking at him closely, still frowning faintly. “You don’t think what I did was wrong. You know I was doing it to protect you, to protect your daughter. You know that I didn’t have other options. So why _are_ you not okay, as you put it, with what I did?”

“Because I can’t – ” Chris swallows hard and looks away. He can tell that Peter really wants an answer to the question, but the problem is, he doesn’t know what the answer is. “I don’t know.”

“He hurt you for your entire life,” Peter points out. “And he was only going to keep hurting you. I just wanted – I _needed_ to protect you.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to be protected,” Chris says.

“So you would rather I have just let your daughter be abducted?”

“No! I just – it’s not that I didn’t want your protection. It’s that I didn’t want to _need_ your protection! I – ” Chris practically chokes on the word. “I was an idiot, okay? My own sister was a psychopath. She murdered an entire family of innocent people, and it can’t have been the first time, and I had _no idea_. If I had known – if I had paid attention, realized what she was – your family might still be alive.”

Peter shakes his head and says quietly, “You can’t take that on your shoulders, Chris. It wasn’t your fault. Not in any way.”

“But – ” Chris turns away, letting one hand thump against the kitchen counter. He stays there for several long moments. “I didn’t want to see what my family really was. I knew – I’ve known ever since Victoria died – but I still tried not to see it. I didn’t want to need to be protected from them, from him. He was my father.”

Peter hesitates, then takes a few steps closer. “That’s what’s at the heart of all this, isn’t it. You’re not upset because I killed your father. You’re upset because I _had_ to.”

Chris manages a nod. “Maybe a part of me – always thought – things would change someday. I knew I would never be the son he wanted me to be. I knew it, but I – I didn’t accept it. Didn’t want to. There was always a chance. And now there isn’t anymore.”

After a moment, Peter wraps his arms around Chris, one around his waist and the other around his shoulders, and pulls him into an embrace. Chris presses his face into Peter’s shoulder, his hands grasping the back of Peter’s shirt. “If I could change things for you, I would,” Peter says. “We both know I can’t. I can’t give you the love of your family, Chris. But I can give you the love of mine. Because we do love you. I know it isn’t the same. But I hope that it’s enough.”

Chris clutches at him, unable to help it. “I don’t know,” he chokes out. “I hope so, too.”

Peter holds onto him for a long minute before he pulls away and thumbs a few tears off Chris’ cheeks. “You know what you need?”

Chris tries to smile, but can’t manage much of one. “What do I need?”

“A break,” Peter says. “Come back home with me. We’re going to sit on the sofa and read a story to Benjamin, and then we’ll order pizza for dinner and watch How to Train Your Dragon and eat brownies straight out of the pan for dessert.”

At this, Chris huffs out a quiet laugh. “I have to admit, that sounds like it would really hit the spot right now.”

“Come on, then.” Peter reaches out a hand, and after a moment, Chris takes it.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

“Chris! Chris!” Benjamin runs over as soon as they come into the house. “I’m two!”

“You’re too what?” Chris asks.

“No, I’m _two_!” Benjamin says, holding up his hand with two pudgy fingers held up.

“You’re – oh, no, did I miss your birthday?” Chris groans.

Peter reaches out and rests a hand on Chris’ arm. “It was last week. But it’s fine that you weren’t here. It takes time to recover from being injured. Benjamin understands, right, buddy?”

“Uh huh,” Benjamin says.

“But to make it up to you, he’s going to read you your favorite story,” Peter adds, shooing them both over to the sofa. Chris sits down in the corner of the L-shaped sofa, and Benjamin immediately crawls into his lap. Peter sits down beside him, close enough so their legs touch slightly. Chris reads him the story while Peter looks on, and then Benjamin jumps down and starts playing with his blocks.

“How about some day time television?” Peter asks, grabbing the remote. “Judge Judy is coming on.” He sees Chris open his mouth and adds, “It wasn’t really a suggestion, invalid.”

Chris gives a snort. “I guess I’ll watch TV, then. But if Maury comes on, I’m out of here.”

“I’m amazed you even know who that is.” Peter snuggles against his shoulder.

They watch TV for about an hour, and then Peter gets up to make lunch but insists that Chris stay on the sofa. He makes tuna salad and makes a sandwich for each of them. A few moments later, a door upstairs opens and Derek jogs down the stairs. “I smell food,” he says.

“Have at,” Peter says, gesturing into the kitchen. Laura pokes her head out a minute later, but when she sees Chris, she stops. Peter glances over at her, then says in a calm tone, “Is it okay that Chris is here?”

“Yeah,” Laura says, sitting down across from Chris and saying to him, “Is it okay with you that I’m here?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Chris says. “Well, okay, I suspect you had a hand in killing my sister, but . . .” He shakes his head. “I don’t really want to talk about it. Yes, I’m okay with you being here.” He looks up as Derek comes in, carrying two plates with sandwiches. He sets one down in front of Laura and then sits next to her. “Derek, I . . . I know there’s nothing I can say that will take back what my sister did. I just want you to know that I’m truly sorry for bringing her here.”

Derek nods a little and ducks his head, then says, “It wasn’t your fault. I didn’t tell anyone.”

“If I had been in your shoes, I probably wouldn’t have, either,” Chris says.

Derek looks a bit surprised, but manages a smile. “I don’t know if I believe you, but thanks for saying it.”

Peter clears his throat and changes the subject, casting a significant look at Benjamin, who’s happily chowing down on his sandwich. “Allison’s birthday must be coming up soon, isn’t it? I think she told me it was in February at some point.”

“Yeah, next week. She wants to have a big party down at Dave and Buster’s. I’ll let you know when. I need to nail all that down and got a little distracted with, well, everything.”

When lunch is over, Peter puts Benjamin down for his nap. He and Chris make brownies and then Chris falls asleep on the sofa. He doesn’t wake even when Benjamin gets back up and starts playing nearby. Peter doesn’t want to disturb him, so he leaves him snoozing on the sofa while he heads down to the school to pick up the girls.

“You, too, Allison,” he calls out to her, seeing her lingering behind Cora.

Her face lights up. “For real?”

“Mm hm. Your father is currently fast asleep in my living room.”

“Yes!” Allison does a fist pump and piles into the car. “And you guys actually talked it out, right? Like, this isn’t going to blow up in a month because you thought you could just sweep it under the rug?”

“I was strongly in favor of sweeping it under the rug,” Peter says, amused, “but yes, we talked it out.” He sees her worried frown and says, “I think he’s going to be okay, Allison. He had a hell of a hard month, but he’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah,” Allison says, and lets out a sigh of relief. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, Peter.”

“My pleasure.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

The evening is blessedly normal, which is really what Peter thinks he and Chris both needed. The kids sit down and do their homework. He helps Sophie with her spelling while Allison and Cora put their heads together over their math. When they’re done, Benjamin wants to play hide-and-seek. Cora quite seriously tells Laura that she has to take at least a dozen turns seeking, since she hadn’t played for so long. Laura laughingly agrees. Even Derek comes downstairs to play.

Peter orders pizza, which makes the kids happy, and lets them have their hour of screen time while he cleans up in the kitchen. The kids get one brownie apiece, and then it’s bedtime and bathtime as usual. Chris tries to get up to help, so Cora and Allison sit on him. He laughs and allows this with relatively good grace.

By the time all the kids are in bed except for Derek, Peter is feeling pretty worn out and Chris is obviously tired. Peter says good night to Laura and then ushers Chris up the stairs. “Do you need any help?” he asks, seeing Chris wince a little as he tries to pull his shirt off.

“Yeah, still hurts to lift my right arm,” Chris says, looking faintly annoyed. Peter helps him out of his shirt, then lets his fingers trace downward, tracing around the edge of the bandages covering the healing wound. “They don’t need to be changed until tomorrow.”

“That’s not why I . . .” Peter shudders a little and pulls his hand back. “I almost lost you. I don’t know how I would have survived that.”

Chris catches his hand as he withdraws, and presses a kiss against his knuckles. “The same way you survived everything else. One day at a time. You’re a lot stronger than you think you are.”

“Maybe.” Peter’s clearly not convinced. “I just can’t help but think that my grief is the reason a lot of this happened. I know hindsight is twenty-twenty, but . . . I feel responsible for a lot of this. I knew something was wrong with Derek, but I didn’t push the issue. I could have spent more time and energy on finding the murderer. I could have . . . there are a lot of things I could have done, but didn’t, because it was so damned hard just to get out of bed every morning.”

“Hey.” Chris puts his finger underneath Peter’s chin, tilting it up so Peter has to meet his gaze. “Nothing about what happened is your fault. Kate . . .” He has to stop and take a breath, let it out slowly. “What Kate did is on her. Nobody else.”

Somewhat amused, Peter says, “Eight hours ago, you were trying to blame yourself.”

“I guess I was, huh.” Chris chuckles ruefully. “We’re both more than a little fucked up.”

“True. And I meant it, you know, when I said that it wasn’t your fault. But this . . .” Peter rests his hand on Chris’ bandages again. “There is at least a little of this that’s on me. Laura was right. I never should have let you leave that night. I knew you were going to go confront her. I wanted you to, because I knew that meant I would be able to catch up with her. She could have killed you, and I would have been partially to blame. You should probably be angry.”

Chris shrugs. “I’m not, if that helps.”

“I don’t know if it does or not.” Peter sits down on the edge of the bed, and Chris sits down next to him. “I just . . . needed to find her, to deal with her. To keep all of us safe.”

“I know.” Chris reaches out and laces his fingers through Peter’s. “Look. Did you fuck up? Yeah, probably. Did I fuck up? Almost definitely. Did Derek and Laura both fuck up in some ways? Sure. We all made mistakes, some of them more understandable than others. But we fucked up because we _were_ fucked up. We didn’t do it out of malice, or anger. We all did the best we could, and . . . for better or for worse, it’s _over_ now. I think maybe we should just . . .”

“Leapfrog over it?” Peter asks, arching an eyebrow.

Chris laughs despite himself. “Yeah, maybe a little bit of leapfrogging is in order.”

“I’m going to put you on record,” Peter says, and Chris laughs harder. “But okay. Maybe you’re right. Maybe we should just try to . . . forgive ourselves. Move on or whatever.”

“Or whatever.” Chris snorts. “Eloquent as always.”

“Give me a break. It’s been a long day.”

“That it has. I’m more than happy to get some sleep.”

“Let me help you get the rest of your clothes off,” Peter says, standing up.

“That won’t be conducive to either of us getting to sleep,” Chris says, and Peter just gives him an amused look. “I’m just saying.”

“Look, I know that you’ve had terrible cabin fever and you clearly think you’re a lot more durable than you actually are,” Peter says, “but bullet holes don’t turn me on. I think you’re going to be waiting another week or two.”

“A week or _two_?” Chris is outraged. “Come on. I’ll let you do all the work.”

Peter nearly hurts himself laughing. “Oh, how _generous_ of you, darling.”

“I thought so myself,” Chris says, shucking his pants off and then grabbing Peter around the waist, tumbling them both onto the bed.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

It’s late, and the house is quiet. Peter is standing by his bedroom window while Chris sleeps soundly. Despite his efforts to prove the contrary, he was clearly exhausted by the day’s events, and had fallen asleep quickly. Peter watches him sleep for a minute, reassured by the rise and fall of his chest, damaged as it is.

After a moment, he eases out of the room. There’s still light underneath Derek’s door, so he carefully cracks it open and glances inside. Laura is lying on Derek’s bed, reading a fashion magazine. Derek is curled up next to her, his head pillowed on her thigh, sound asleep. Laura glances up when Peter comes in, and murmurs, “He’s okay, I think. Just still a little edgy.”

“What about you?” Peter asks.

Laura manages a smile. “I’m all right.”

“Mm.” Peter sits down on the edge of the bed. “You know, I was thinking, if you had alpha power, you might be able to heal those scars.”

“Maybe, but . . .” Laura shakes her head. “You shouldn’t even think about it. The kids need you.”

Peter arches an eyebrow. “I wasn’t volunteering, my darling niece. There are a lot of alphas in the world. With Chris’ help, I’m sure we could find one who needs to be shuffled free from this mortal coil.”

“Oh.” Laura laughs a little. “Yeah, maybe. I mean. It would be nice to heal. But I don’t have a lot of pain, not the way I used to. It might be kind of weird, having two alphas.”

“Just something to think about.” Peter stands up. “I’m going to go make myself some tea. Would you like some?”

“No, I’m okay. Thanks.”

“All right. Good night, then.” Peter turns and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. He peeks into Cora’s room to check on the girls. They had moved bunk beds in so Allison could sleep there after Christmas. They’re both sound asleep. He heads into the room across the hall to see Benjamin curled up in with his thumb in his mouth. Sophie is sprawled out and has tossed the blankets off the bed. Peter smiles slightly, picking one up and covering her back up. Then he heads downstairs and sets some water on the stove.

He likes it in the house late at night, when it’s quiet and peaceful. He loves the children, loves the pack, but sometimes he needs time to think. It’s especially nice now, after such a long day – really, a long month. He feels . . . whole, for the first time since Kate had come to town. Like everything is back to the way it should be. Not the way it always was, of course – he can never have that. But back to the new normal. It’s not the pack he would have expected or the one he would have asked for, but it’s his.

He hears a shuffling behind him and turns to see Chris in the doorway. “Hey, what are you doing up?”

“If I move in my sleep, the wound twinges and wakes me a lot of the time,” Chris says.

“You probably have painkillers you should be taking to help with that,” Peter says.

Chris just shrugs a little. “I woke up and you weren’t there, so I came to see if you’re okay.”

“I am, I think.” The kettle starts to whistle, and Peter walks over to it to make them both a mug of tea. Green tea, for both of them, in deference to the late hour. “I think it’ll take some time for us to get back to an even keel, but we’ll get there.”

“Yeah.” Chris takes the mug, dipping the tea bag in and out.

“Do you regret it?” Peter asks. “I mean, you couldn’t have expected everything that happened. You were just coming by to drop off a loaf of banana bread.”

“True.” Chris laughs. “But since you asked, I don’t. I’m glad I came over that day. And the next day, and the next. I came over intending to help you, but I never would have guessed how much you would end up helping me.” He walks over and slides an arm around Peter’s waist, pressing a kiss into his temple. “There’s a lot that’s happened that was awful, and . . . it’s going to take time to get used to things. But I have to say, I don’t hate not having to consider my dad’s possible reaction when I make every decision. I don’t hate not having to worry that he’s going to take my daughter away from me. And that’s because of you. So thank you, Peter. And I’m sorry I couldn’t say that before.”

Peter leans in and nuzzles at Chris’ neck. “You’re welcome. And thank you, too. You were right, you know.”

“About which part?”

“That it gets easier to carry.” Peter takes a sip of his tea, leaning against the darkened window. “I miss Olivia, Talia, all of them. I miss them so much. But it’s not . . . dragging me down the way it used to. It hurts, but when it hurts I can just stop and take a breath and . . . keep going, in a way that I couldn’t for a long time.”

“Well, having dealt with Kate . . .”

“No, it was before that. I started noticing it after Christmas, before Kate came to town, before I knew who had been responsible. Don’t get me wrong, putting that to rest took a lot of weight off my chest. But it’s not the only thing that’s helped. It’s you, it’s all of this.” Peter gestures to the house. “Focusing on the pack, on my family, that helped me keep my head above water. But you made it so that I could actually enjoy things again, rather than just getting through them.”

Chris presses a kiss against his temple. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Peter rests his weight against Chris, then yawns. “Come on. We should both get some sleep.”

“Yeah, okay.” Chris finishes what’s left of his tea and rinses the mug and puts it in the sink. Peter takes his with him, since he’s not done with it yet. A minute later and they’re curled up in bed together. “See you in the morning?”

“Mm.” Peter kisses the corner of Chris’ mouth. “I’ll look forward to it.”

 

 

~fin~


End file.
